


Light a Match (To Swallow Up The Flame)

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kind of gritty and dark, but will undoubtedly get a little fluffy too, strip club au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strip Club AU. </p><p>Six months ago, poet Leo Fitz moved from New York City to Seattle. When Trip gets dumped, Hunter offers to waive the cover at the upscale strip joint where he works security. Fitz grudgingly accompanies his friend to Badlands, where a dancer named Hurricane knocks his entire life off balance. She vanished from his life two years ago without a trace. The last place he expects to see Jemma Simmons again is on the stage of a burlesque club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tear yourself apart to entertain (like me)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I have a major Halsey problem. "Gasoline" somehow created this AU world in my head, and then "Is There Somewhere" built up on top of it. What was going to be a one shot is now going to be a multi chapter fic loosely based on lyrics from these songs.

Fitz looks up as his roommate Lance, more commonly known as Hunter, stands with a sigh. 

“Sorry, mate, I’ve got to head to the club,” he tells their other roommate Trip, who sips morosely on his drink. “If you’d like to come down and get this Raina girl out of your head, feel free. I can get the cover waived.” 

Fitz snorts. “I don’t think he wants to go to a strip club, Hunter.” 

“Well, I’ll still put you on the list. In case he changes his mind.” 

Trip shrugs and takes another pull from his beer. In the six months that Fitz has been living with Trip and Hunter, he’s never seen Trip upset. Fitz has never been a big fan of Trip’s girlfriend Raina, or her seemingly endless wardrobe of flower printed dresses, but Trip had been enamored by her big eyes and even bigger ideas. Fitz had hoped to like her more, given that they were both writers, but he just couldn’t seem to connect with her. Regardless, her infidelity with her publisher John Garret had destroyed Trip. 

Only an hour or so after Hunter leaves for work, Trip decides that he is drunk and sad enough that he wants to go to Badlands. Ordinarily Fitz would refuse, but his friend is just so broken up that Fitz can’t do much more than say yes and throw on his jacket. They exit into the rainy Seattle night and get a cab to the club; Fitz isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but the place is surprisingly upscale. Trip approaches the large bouncer and tells him their names. 

“Oh, Hunter’s boys. I’m Mack, by the way. Go on in.” 

They nod at Mack and enter the club, immediately bolting for the bar. Fitz sees Hunter standing near the backstage area, arms crossed and his best intimidating look on his face. The dancer on stage finishes up to raucous applause, but Fitz isn’t paying attention as he orders his drink from the scantily clad bartender, who introduces herself as Kara. He wonders if that’s really her name, and decides to treat this entire experience as a writing exercise. 

Fitz expects the music to be the typical “Cherry Pie” strip club fare, but in true Seattle fashion, it’s more along the lines of alternative pop. The opening bars of the next song begins and the DJ introduces the next dancer as Hurricane. 

Fitz snorts into his whiskey and turns to see what kind of stripper came up with that name. Trip nods over at some empty chairs, so Fitz follows him and takes a seat.

_Are you insane like me? ___  
_Been in pain like me? ___  
_Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? ___  
_Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me? ___

____When he looks up, his throat goes dry. The woman on stage has legs that go on for miles, and the lingerie she wears is a deep burgundy color. Her back is to the audience as she runs her hands over her sides before dropping down toward the floor and opening her legs away from the audience. Her short brown hair just brushes her shoulders, and she turns seductively over her shoulder._ _ _ _

____That’s when his heart stops._ _ _ _

____He would recognize those hazel eyes anywhere. He begins to cough, and Trip claps him on the back._ _ _ _

____“You okay, man?” Trip asks him over the music. Fitz nods shakily and watches as Jemma Simmons body rolls back to her feet and grabs ahold of the pole beside her, spinning slowly and throwing a wink to a man right in front of her. She hoists herself up onto the pole and slowly bends backward until she hangs upside down. The view of her body is almost too much for him as he remembers all the times that he’d itched to grab ahold of her but never did._ _ _ _

____Jemma—or rather, Hurricane—twirls quickly down off the pole, but immediately hops back up, dangling upside down once more and quickly pulling her legs apart in the splits. The group of men toward the front of the stage whoop and holler, and she spins back down. One of them beckons her forward with bills but she just glances at him mischeviously before turning her back to the pole and writhing against it._ _ _ _

_________Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?_  
_Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_  
_Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?_  
_Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me?_

________Fitz vaguely recalls being twenty-one at a club in New York City, when Jemma was flushed pink with alcohol and danced against him like that. He shakes his head of it and watches the rest of her performance with a rapidly beating heart and a tight gut. She looks directly over his head when she looks in their direction and he nearly sighs in relief. He’s not sure what she would do if she knew he was here. He’s not even sure what to do, being there and watching his old friend dance in almost nothing on a stage._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________And all the people say_  
_"You can't wake up, this is not a dream_  
_You're part of a machine, you are not a human being_  
_With your face all made up, living on a screen_  
_Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline"_

_____________He nearly laughs as he tunes in to the lyrics of her chosen song; leave it to witty and sharp Jemma to strip to a song that sounds so blatantly critical of the very setting that she’s in. Her dancing becomes more and more scandalous, and Fitz looks around desperately for something else to put his eyes on. He sees Hunter talking to a tall blonde dancer and decides to focus on their exchange instead. Hunter tugs at the end of her curls and flashes her a wolfish grin. She rolls her eyes and bats his hand away but smiles back. Fitz wonders if this is the girl that Hunter has been talking about lately, the one who’s fiery and challenging and entirely too smart for him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________Hunter’s eyes suddenly change focus and he gives the blonde dancer an apologetic shrug as he moves toward the stage. One of the men in the front reaches onto the stage and grabs at Jemma’s hips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? ___  
_Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me? ___  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________She easily spins to avoid him, shooting him a glare over her shoulder as she continues on with her routine, sinking to her knees and dropping low into the splits. He reaches for her again and grabs her left knee._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? ___  
_Pointing fingers cause you'll never take the blame like me ___  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Just as her stagename appears in her song of choice, she swiftly slides her right leg out and strikes the offending man in the face with her sharp heel. Many of the patrons cheer as she grins and bends backward with her hands behind her, arching her back appealingly. Hunter grabs the now-injured man by the front of his shirt to boot him out of the club._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________As he watches Jemma dance, a thousand images of her fly through his head at once. Laughing into her tea at brunch. Hand gracefully outstretched to him the night they met at a mutual friend’s party. Watching her pirouette down the street in Brooklyn, pink lips pouting at him as she tried to teach him how to lift her like the male dancers in her ballet company._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He’s so wrapped up in the images of the version of her that he once knew that he doesn’t even realize that her number is over. She swings her hips as she goes back to the curtain, blowing a sultry kiss over her shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Wow,” Trip whistles. “She was something else.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Yeah. Something else,” Fitz agrees shortly. He excuses himself and exits out of the side door of the club, rooting around in his jacket for his cigarettes. His shaking hands struggle with the lighter, and when he finally gets it to work, he inhales deeply._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Fuck,” he breathes through gritted teeth. The door opens suddenly and the blonde dancer that Hunter was chatting with stumbles out of it, drink in hand. She gives him a big smile._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Can I bum a cigarette?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He nods wordlessly and offers her the pack. She plucks one out and places the cigarette between her plump lips. He curses softly again as he tries to light it for her, and she laughs warmly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Not a big strip club kinda guy?” she asks him knowingly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“You could say that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“So what are you doing here then? Bachelor party?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Nah,” he tells her after a drag. “My friend works here, he invited me and our friend Trip out ‘cause Trip just got dumped.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Her face lights up with recognition. “No way! You’re Hunter’s roommate?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“How’d you know that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Well, he works here and has a Scottish roommate, so it was pretty easy math.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He chuckles. “Guess that makes sense.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“If it makes you feel any better, Hunter’s almost off shift, which means you’ll probably get to go home soon,” she informs him. He shrugs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“I don’t really mind it. Just—a bit overwhelmed.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________She gives him a lascivious smile. “Hurricane knock you over, then?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He splutters for a minute before finally denying her question. She just winks at him and continues smoking, occasionally lifting her drink to her lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Trip stumbles out of the door a few minutes later, interrupting Fitz’s companionable silence with the nameless blonde stripper. Of all the ways he’d expected his night to go, this was not one of them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“You must be Trip,” she says. He nods and she introduces herself. “Mockingbird. Well, that’s my stage name. My real name is Bobbi.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Trip and Fitz exchange a quick look—yes, Fitz’s earlier suspicions were true. This was the infamously quick witted Bobbi that Hunter had been talking about for weeks. He had failed to mention that she was a dancer at his club._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________The three of them fall into easy chatter, and Fitz finds himself chain smoking to still his trembling hands. While the other two talk about their respective fitness routines, Fitz’s mind replays what he just witnessed over and over again. The door slams open again, and a tall man with dark hair and stormy eyes barks out an order at Bobbi._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Hey! Get the hell back in here. You’re not off the clock yet.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Bobbi narrows her eyes at him. “Relax, Ward. I was just taking my break.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Well I’m not paying you to flirt with customers,” Ward growls._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Really? Cause I’m pretty sure that’s like, ninety percent of my job,” she mumbles to Fitz and Trip as she walks past them to get back inside. “See you guys around.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter comes out shortly after, drinking out of a flask and leaning against the brick wall. “Did you two just meet—“_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Bobbi?” Trip finishes. “Yeah, we did. She’s cool, man.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“She’s a hell beast,” Hunter says, but his words lack edge. “She offered you a free lapdance.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Trip snorts. “You know, as nice as that sounds, I’m gonna pass on that. It would be a pretty great story to tell at your wedding though.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter pegs him with a sardonic stare before taking in Fitz’s agitated stance. “You alright, Fitzy?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“What? Yeah. Fine.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________A familiar British voice assaults him as the door swings open once more. “Thank you!” she calls into the club. “I owe you one.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________She teeters out on her tall heels, breezing right by the trio of men outside as she answers her ringing cell phone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Hello? Yes, this is she,” Jemma says politely. Her voice is a little different than he remembers, a little bit huskier, and he wonders if that’s just because of the smoke inside of the club. She tenses as she listens to the person at the other end of the line. He watches her dig around in her coat. She removes a small plastic tube and pops it open, sliding a joint out of it and placing it between her lips. She remains completely oblivious to the men to the right._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Oi!” Hunter calls out to her as he jogs up to her to light her joint. “You’ve gotta be more careful, love.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________She inhales deeply and exhales the smoke slowly. Fitz wets his lips with his tongue and tries his best to remind himself that this is Jemma Simmons. Perky, bright, borderline annoying Jemma . The smoke swirls around in front of her and then she turns back around, speaking calmly but firmly into the phone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“No, no, I’ll get it to you,” she says. She looks down at her watch. “I’m off early. I can get a money order and bring it to you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________She sighs in relief and continues talking, tightening the belt of her coat around her middle and striding quickly past Fitz and his roommates. He feels his entire body go numb as she brushes past him without even looking up. The smell of marijuana floods his senses and he lets out a shaky breath._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________What the hell was prima ballerina Jemma Simmons doing dancing in a burlesque club, smoking joints in rainy alley ways?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________The bigger question was whether or not he had the guts to ask her about it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________That night when he gets home, he goes straight to his bedroom and slumps in his desk, mind swirling with contrasting images of the woman who disappeared out of his life with no warning. He feels the words forming more naturally and more intensely than he’s felt in years. He picks up his favorite pen, cracks open his well-worn journal, and begins writing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________It is nearly six a.m. when he finally shuts it. He sinks into his sheets as the rain beats down outside of his open window. He lets the chill lull him to sleep, dreaming of Jemma Simmons on pointe shoes, holding on to an umbrella desperately in a hurricane._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He wakes up late in the afternoon, padding out into the living room to find Hunter playing video games._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Where’s Trip?” he asks blearily, clicking on the kettle for some tea. Hunter shrugs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Something about getting the rest of his shit from Raina’s.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz nods in understanding and silently makes his tea. He stirs the sugar in and licks the liquid off of the spoon before tossing it into the sink. He clears his throat and leans on the counter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Hey, uh, do you work tonight?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter nods absentmindedly. “Yep.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Does Je—Hurricane, work tonight?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter pauses the game, suddenly alert. “Why do you ask?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz attempts nonchalance, but his shrug is jerky at best. Hunter looks entirely too interested in this response. “No reason really.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Someone’s got a crush,” Hunter teases. Fitz sips his tea and raises his middle finger to his friend, earning a laugh. “She is working tonight. Her only nights off are Tuesdays and Wednesdays.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz acknowledges this with a small grunt and moves back toward his room. Hunter calls out to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Want me to put you on the list for tonight?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz pauses, eyes screwed shut in his doorway. He wants to say no, but something in him is calling him back to Badlands. For years he’s wondered what happened to her, and now he has his answer. He just wishes that the answer didn’t leave him with even more questions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Yeah,” he finally answers Hunter. Then he slams his door and sits back at his desk, opening his journal and scratching out lines that don’t work. He mumbles the poems to himself, pausing for the occasional sip of his beverage. He gets so wrapped up in his work that eventually his drink grows cold, and he pushes it away in disgust._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He glances at the desk drawer to his right and tries to convince himself not to open it. He’s unsuccessful, and he slides it open, deftly rifling through the papers to pull out a crinkled manila envelope. He opens it up and dumps it out on his desk, blindly grabbing at the first thing he finds._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz bites his lip as he gazes down at the photostrip of him and Jemma laying flat in his palm. In the first frame, he’s simply looking at her while she laughs, hand over her mouth and eyes full of mirth. In the second, she’s pressing her lips to his cheek and despite the black and white resolution, he’s obviously blushing as he stares at his knees. The third picture is both of them beaming, her arms thrown around his neck and her face squished against his. In the fourth and last frame, they’re both making goofy faces. He exhales shakily and sorts through the various ticket stubs, little scraps of paper with her handwriting on them, and photos from his life in New York. He’d left six months ago, itching for a change._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter swings the door open without knocking, and Fitz drops a photo of him and Jemma in Central Park like it burns him. Hunter raises his eyebrows as he looks at the contents of Fitz’s desk._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Fitz croaks defensively._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter doesn’t even respond; he just stares down at the photostrip, then looks at Fitz, then back at the photo._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“You know her.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz gulps and nods. Hunter disappears but leaves the door open, and Fitz knows he’s not going to leave this alone. He reappears shortly after, handing Fitz a beer and opening his own._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Alright. Tell me how you know Jemma.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hearing her name from someone else’s mouth makes his stomach flutter. He didn’t imagine her last night. It really was her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz takes a deep breath and pops open his drink before beginning. “I was at a party at my college roommate’s new apartment. His girlfriend was a dancer with the American Ballet Theater, so she brought a bunch of her dancer friends. I was pretty miserable, so I shoved some beers in my jacket and went up to the roof. Jemma was already up there, just drinking and staring at the skyline. She turned around and saw me and introduced herself, and we spent all night talking.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“So you guys dated?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz shakes his head adamantly. “No, we didn’t. We just got really close. We were nineteen at the time, and we just—we clicked, you know? I spent two years going to her recitals and she came to all of my readings. She was the first person to find out when I got my first book deal. We did almost everything together. It was—pretty impossible to not want more, but I didn’t expect it. Then one night she was at my apartment, and we were just having some drinks and listening to music and talking. It started getting really late and I was falling asleep, and I remember her leaning over and kissing me. She said “you’re my best friend in the world”, and then I guess I knocked out.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter leans forward in interest. “Then what?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz swallows painfully. “Then she was gone. I didn’t hear from her for days, and I started to get worried. I showed up at her apartment and it was cleared out. Her landlord wouldn’t tell me where she went, and her phone number was changed. She was just—gone. I asked some of her dancer friends, but everyone said that she just up and left. I tried to track her down for a while, but eventually I just—I had to stop. She didn’t want to be found.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter lets out a long breath. “Wow, mate. That’s—fucking intense.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz barks out a laugh. “Yeah. Guess it is.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hunter claps him on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll make sure you’re on the list as long as you want to be. I’d suggest you just talk to her, but I have a feeling you don’t feel ready to do that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Fitz nods and downs half of his beer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“By the way, forgot to tell you. Callie came by while you were passed out this morning,” Hunter informs him. Fitz sighs and grabs his phone, typing out a quick text to his sort-of-girlfriend. “I didn’t tell her you went to a strip club last night.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Good looking out,” Fitz smiles, clinking his bottle against Hunter’s._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________They sit in easy silence, sipping on their beers and wrapped in their own thoughts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“So…what do you think of Bobbi?” Hunter suddenly asks. Fitz laughs and shakes his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“She’s awesome. Too good for you, probably.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Yeah,” Hunter smiles, and Fitz is shocked to see an unfamiliar fondness in his eyes. “Probably.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. no one's ever left me quite this sore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter forces Fitz's hand; Jemma and Fitz finally cross paths.

It’s his fourth night in a row at Badlands; Fitz knows that lurking in the back of a strip club ever night for hours on end probably makes him a pervert, but he can’t stop coming back. Every night when he leaves, he writes more than he’s written since his first collection of poems was published just before he graduated college. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that Jemma is the common denominator in both instances. 

The first couple of nights, Lance hadn’t said much about it. He’d just given him a nod when Fitz entered, and never spoke of it at home. Fitz wasn’t sure if Trip knew where he was spending all of his time, but Trip didn’t mention it either. 

It’s on night number four that Hunter finally snaps when he joins Fitz for a cigarette in the alley on his break. 

“Just fucking talk to her,” he tells him. “How do you think she’s going to feel, knowing you’ve been ogling her for almost a week without even trying to say something?” 

Fitz runs a hand over his face. “I don’t even know if I want to talk to her.” 

Lance looks surprised, ashing his cigarette. “Seems to me the two of you had something special.” 

He shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck. “We did. But she’s not—she’s not the Jemma I knew anymore.” 

Hunter snorts derisively. “Just because a woman takes her clothes off for money doesn’t mean she’s a bad person.” 

Fitz clenches his jaw. “That’s not what I was trying to say.” 

“It sure as hell sounded like it to me,” Lance fires back. He stomps on his cigarette with his Doc Martens. “Look, I don’t know who she used to be. But I know her now, and she’s good people. Either talk to her or stop coming by. You’ve got to make a choice.” 

Fitz decides that it’s a good enough note as any to leave his night, and he takes off to go back home and think about what Hunter said. He certainly had a point. He couldn’t continue on, creeping around Badlands and waiting for her to notice. He pulls out his phone and finds Callie’s name. 

She answers on the second ring, chipper as ever. “Fitz! What’s up?” 

“Hey,” he says, and is surprised by the gruffness of his own voice. He clears his throat. “What are you up to?” 

“Not too much,” she tells him. “I just got home from the bar with a couple of friends from work. Do you want to come over?” 

He swallows hard. He hasn’t seen Callie since that first night at Badlands, and he makes a decision. Maybe seeing Callie again will remind him that he’s a different person now, that he has someone else who wants him and that whoever Jemma is pretending to be just doesn’t fit. 

“Yeah. I’ll be there in ten.” 

He hangs up and pulls his denim jacket tighter against his torso in the light drizzle. When he arrives at her door, she immediately pulls him in to a drawn out kiss. His eyes shut at the sensation, but all he can see behind his eyelids is the red lighting of Badlands, Jemma dangling upside down from a pole. 

He grabs onto Callie and pushes her against the door as it shuts, biting at her neck and keeping his eyes wide open. Closure, he tells himself. That’s what this is. Jemma has moved on, and so has he. 

*** 

Less than twenty-four hours later, Fitz has to admit that he’s a massive liar from his seat in the back of the club, whiskey in hand. The self-loathing swimming in his gut feels like lead. He hadn’t missed the judgment on Hunter’s face when he’s come home at 6 in the morning in last night’s clothes, bruises on his neck from Callie’s lips. And he certainty can’t miss the way that his roommate is glaring at him from his spot near the stage. 

As it turns out, Badlands becomes crowded on Saturday nights. Jemma performs four times, and on her last go she hops off of the stage and has a brief conversation with Lance before winding her way through the crowd. He glances at his watch and finds that it’s almost closing time. Fitz watches as she flashes a smile at a group of guys near him and shifts uncomfortably, staring down at the table top like it holds all the answers in the world in an effort to remain unseen. 

A pair of lean legs distracts him from his table and he follows them up to Jemma’s surprised face. Something flashes in her eyes and her jaw hardens briefly before she schools her face into the stage smile he’s seen so often in the days he’s been coming to the club. 

“You ordered a dance?” she asks. Her voice sends a shiver down his spine, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s missed it so much or if it’s because of how detached she sounds. 

He opens his mouth but no noise comes out, so he vehemently shakes his head instead. Does she not recognize him? It seems unbelievable to him, but this entire situation has felt unbelievable since he first saw her up on stage. 

“Well then somebody bought one for you,” she informs him. “You’re on Hunter’s list. Guess it’s your lucky night.” 

And then she steps into his space, nudging his feet apart with one high heel and standing between them. Fitz has never hyperventilated, but he’s pretty sure that the desperate way that his body tries to find it’s breath is close enough. She averts her eyes from his face as she begins to dance, gyrating and brushing against him before turning her back to him and bending over. 

He has never been more aware of his own hands and body. This is the same woman who wore his sweatpants around his apartment in New York, propped up on his kitchen counter at three in the morning eating greasy pizza with mascara around her eyes. This is the first person to ever tell him he was talented. This is the woman who climbed into his bed on the floor when his grandmother died in Scotland and he couldn’t say goodbye. 

“Jemma—“ he half-groans as she turns and straddles him, breasts entirely too close to his face. She freezes for a moment and continues on. He tries to think of something, anything to say, but he’s so paralyzed by the fact that someone he’d been so close to for so long was half-naked and writhing all over his body. 

The song is over before he knows it, and she climbs off of him without a word. Her fingertips brush against his arm as she turns away, and he sees her glance back. The hurt on her face is so palpable, and even though he’s so angry that she abandoned him without a trace, his heart jumps into his throat and he has to swallow the lump that it creates. He feels his eyes burn with guilt and shame as he shoves his palms over them, and before he can even process all the things he’s feeling, he allows the rage that bubbles most prominently to take over. 

He storms over to where Hunter blocks the entrance to backstage and shoves him up against it. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he yells at him. 

Hunter shoves him back, tossing his clipboard aside. “Someone had to make the move.”

“Well it shouldn’t have been you,” Fitz growls. 

“It wasn’t going to be you,” Hunter shoots back. Fitz clenches his hand at his side and really thinks about punching his roommate square in the face, but decides against it. The large bouncer who serves as Hunter’s backup could probably break every bone in his body. Instead, he shakes his head and gives his friend one more furious glare before bolting for the alley exit. 

The door shuts behind him and he violently kicks it, slamming his fists against it for good measure. He hears a sharp, gasping hiccup and freezes, turning slowly to face Jemma where she leans against the opposite wall. 

“Leo,” she breathes, and it sounds almost involuntary. He sucks his entire bottom lip into his mouth and bites down, hard. 

“Is it really you?” 

“Who else would it be?” she asks him dully. She glances down at herself, still dressed in a black lace corset and tiny underwear, garters holding her stockings up. “Guess I’ve changed that much, then.” 

His fingers itch to pull her to him, crush her in his arms and make sure she can’t get this far away from him ever again. His heart thuds so painfully against his chest that it radiates through his bones and he wants to punch the wall one more time just to stop the way he’s shaking. 

She obviously senses that he’s not going to respond and sighs heavily, moving to pass him. He grabs ahold of her hand and tugs her back toward him, finally meeting her eyes with his own. Underneath the heavy makeup, they’re the same ones that had peeked at him blearily on her couch on movie nights as she struggled not to fall asleep. 

“Why?” he finally croaks. 

Jemma hesitates and he can practically hear her thinking. They’d spent nearly three years in sync with one another, and somehow, the smallest fragments of that closeness are not yet broken. 

“Somebody needed me,” she eventually says. She looks down at where his hand still holds her arm and he drops it immediately, stepping back from her. 

“I needed you! And you left! You could have been—you could have been dead!” 

“There were other people in my life too!” she half-shouts at him. “And they needed me more than you did.” 

He can’t stop the way his chest is heaving for breath and he feels like he might vomit. “What was so important that you couldn’t even say goodbye?” 

She breaks eye contact and scuffs her towering heel on the ground beneath her. “It’s not important.” 

“Not important?” he yelps. “You were the most—you were the most precious thing to me, and you disappeared. Like you never fucking existed, Jemma!” 

“Do you think this has been easy for me?” she yells at him, indicating wildly at herself. “And for you to—to humiliate me like you did in there—“ 

“That wasn’t me!” he insists angrily. “Hunter was sick of me just lurking around, trying to decide if I wanted to speak to you—“ 

Now she’s the one who stumbles back, looking as though he’s slapped her in the face. “Lurking around? How long?” 

Fitz screws his eyes shut, wanting so desperately to rewind back to just a few minutes before. He’s not sure if he’d rather have never come outside, or if he just wants to start this conversation over. 

“How long?” she repeats, voice wobbly. 

“Five nights,” he tells her shakily. “Jemma—“ 

She wraps her arms around herself in the chill of the evening and lets out a small whimper. 

“I’m not spectacle for you to come and gawk at,” she finally tells him. 

Fitz feels bile rise up in his mouth, and he doesn’t even want to say the words that come next but they spill out anyway. “Really? I was under the impression that was your job now.” 

Her expression crumbles and before he can try to correct his mistake, she’s walking away from him, out of the alley and toward the street. 

“Jemma!” he shouts, jogging after her. “Jemma, wait, you can’t just walk around dressed like this.” 

She whirls on him. “Leave me alone!” she shrieks. “Just—leave me alone!” 

Tears stream down her face unchecked, cutting a path in her façade. On instinct, he pulls her into him, one hand immediately reaching into her hair. 

“Shh, I didn’t mean it,” he soothes. “I didn’t—I just—I don’t know what to do here, Jemma.” 

She sobs into his chest, loud and hard. He grimaces against the sound and rakes his hands through her curls as she calms down. 

“I never thought I would see you again,” she mumbles against his flannel shirt. 

Fitz nods in response. “I didn’t either. I’m sorry that I kept coming back. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I just—I didn’t know what to do.” 

She steps back and he feels immediately cold without her pressed against his chest. She nods and wipes at her face with shaking hands. 

A sudden, desperate fear that this is the last time he’ll have a chance to see her floods his system. “I know a place that’s open 24 hours, it’s right down the road,” he blurts out. “Come with me. We can have middle of the night breakfast.” 

This earns him a small smile and she nods. “Let me just go—take off my makeup and change.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll just wait out here.” 

She walks backwards to the door, eyes still on him until the last second when she pulls it open and steps back into the club. He fists his hands into his hair, reeling from the last fifteen minutes. He lights up a cigarette while he waits, attempting to quell his anxiety as he waits for her to come back. 

When she returns, she’s wearing jeans with combat boots and a white t-shirt, a black leather motorcycle jacket keeping her warm. Her heavy makeup is gone, leaving her face bare with just a hint of her red lipstick blended into her mouth. 

“Ready?” he asks unnecessarily. She nods at him and allows him to lead the way down the street. They walk in tense silence for a couple of blocks before she finally speaks. 

“I read your book,” she says softly, shoving her hands in her back pockets. 

“So you saw the dedication then?” he asks, and he watches as she clams up. He curses softly. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” 

“Do you still dance?” Fitz asks. 

“You mean outside of the exotic sense?” she replies, and he looks at her in surprise. A playful smile tugs at her lips and he rolls his eyes at her. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t really have anywhere to do it,” she shrugs. “I do what I can in my apartment, but well, it’s basically a shoe box. Not a lot of space to do leaps and turns. I built a bar, though, so I still do some workouts and small combos.” 

They fall back into silence, but it’s ever so slightly softer now. 

“Here we are,” he announces as they stop in front of Phil’s. “Best diner in town, I swear.” 

“How long have you been living here?” 

“Six months now. Did you come straight here?” 

Jemma nods as he chooses a booth. She crawls in opposite him and fidgets with the menu on the table. “Mhm. This city and I just celebrated two years together.” 

He nods gratefully at the waitress who drops off some water for them, gulping half of the glass down. “So, somebody needed you.” 

There’s a beat before Jemma responds. “Do you remember my sister?” 

Fitz furrows his brow, shaking his head. “You’re an only child.” 

She rolls her eyes lightly. “Sorry, I meant my foster sister.” 

“Ah,” he recalls. “Your parents sent her back to CPS when you were sixteen, right?” 

“Exactly,” she confirms. “Skye. She needed my help.” 

“With what?” 

She gives him a look that tells him not to push it, so he leans back and holds his hands up in surrender. 

“I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me where you were going.” 

“You would have stopped me.” 

“I would have tried, sure, but—“ 

Jemma sighs heavily. “All these years and you still don’t understand. I would have stayed for you, if you’d asked.” 

“If it was that important, then I would have—“ 

“—come with me, I know. That was even worse. You were almost done with college, first in your family to graduate, with a book deal to boot. I couldn’t—I couldn’t rip you away from all of that.” 

The weight of her words settle over them and she fidgets nervously in her seat until the waitress comes by to take their orders. 

“I’ll have the pancake breakfast,” Fitz orders. “And she’ll do the Belgian waffle with a side of sausage. Can we also get some hot tea, please?” 

The waitress jots down their order. “I’ll be right back with the tea.” 

Jemma looks up at him with wide honey eyes and he chuckles. “Nobody ever changes their diner food.” 

Something about the familiar ritual of breakfast in the middle of the night breaks through the years dangling between them, and he tells her all about the restlessness that brought him to Seattle. He tells her that he likes it because it’s cold and dreary like Glasgow, and she tells him that she likes it better than she’d ever liked New York. She tells him about the hikes that she and Bobbi take on Saturdays and shyly invites him along on their next one. He asks her what her favorite poem in his book was even though he already has a pretty good idea, and he’s right. 

They stay seated in the booth long after they’ve finished eating, and he offers to walk her home as the sun begins to rise over the damp streets. She accepts, unwilling to part quite yet, and leads the way to her building. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to ask, Jemma. Why are you—I mean, what made you want to—“ 

“Be a stripper?” Jemma supplies easily, the word lacking malice or regret. “It’s complicated, I guess. But I don’t dislike my job. For the most part, people are respectful at the club, and the ones who aren’t get booted right away. I make way more money than I ever did at the ballet.” 

He shrugs. “Just doesn’t seem worth it.” 

She pauses thoughtfully. “It is. Like I said, it’s complicated, but there’s an end in sight. Hopefully very soon. Ward is really the only thing I don’t like about Badlands.” 

“He’s the owner, right?” 

“Right in one. He can be a real ass. I’ve heard some rough stories from some of the other dancers, but so far he and I haven’t had any problems. Has Hunter mentioned anything?” 

“Nah, not really. The first night I went there I ran into Bobbi in the alley and he came out and yelled at her.” 

“Those two do not get along,” Jemma laughs. She stops suddenly in front of a squat brick building. “Well, this is me.” 

“Oh.” 

She stares at him, worrying her lip between her teeth, before she finally throws her arms around his shoulders and holds onto him tightly. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she murmurs against his neck. He tries to smother the feeling that blooms in his chest and wraps his arms around her waist. 

“You too. I’m—really glad that you’re safe.” 

She pulls back and gives him an enigmatic smile that leaves his thoughts swirling. She presses a diner napkin with her phone number on it into his palm. 

“If you ever want to do this again, give me a call,” she tells him before she dashes up the small set of stairs and disappears into the building. 

He stares at the closed door of her building, reminding himself over and over again that the entire night had actually happened. He glanced down at the napkin in his hand and smirked, pulling out his phone and typing in the numbers written in her familiar scrawl.

“Hello?” she answered tentatively. 

“Jemma? It’s Fitz.” 

“Fitz?” she asks, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh, right. I uh, I’ve been going by Fitz lately.” 

She laughs lightly. “I see. Trying to fit in with Hunter and Trip?” 

“Something like that,” he grins, finally convincing his feet to walk away. “So you only work nights, yeah?” 

She hums her confirmation and he hears shuffling on her end of the phone. She lets out a small contented sigh and he imagines her sliding into bed. This widens his smile. 

“Well, why don’t you come over tomorrow? I’ve got to get some writing done but we could just—“ 

“Yes,” she cuts him off. “That sounds lovely.” 

He ignores the flip that his stomach does. “Great. I’ll text you my address.” 

When he finally gets home, he finds Hunter in the kitchen with Trip, a hesitant expression on his face. 

“You’re lucky that went as well as it did,” he warns, kicking off his boots and collapsing onto the couch. “I’m bloody exhausted.” 

“Second day in a row you’ve not come back till the morning,” Hunter jokes with raised eyebrows. 

“What are you doing up so early?” Fitz asks suspiciously. “Trip just got off shift, but—“ 

Hunter’s bedroom door, situated right next to the living room, swings open. Bobbi stands in the doorway, one of Hunter’s band t-shirts leaving little to the imagination on her frame. 

“You boys are loud,” she mockingly mumbles. “And if you’re wondering why he’s up, he never went to bed.” 

She smacks his ass as she walks past him and Hunter’s face is overtaken by a satisfied little smile. Bobbi opens the fridge and pulls out the carton of eggs and bacon. 

“Breakfast, anyone?” 

“I’m gonna get some sleep,” Trip declines. “Thanks though.” 

“I already ate with Jemma,” Fitz says, marveling at the familiar taste of the words in his mouth. 

He retreats to his own room; just before he closes the door, he hears Hunter murmur something to Bobbi. 

“Told you it would work.” 

Bobbi scoffs. “Lucky break. I’ll buy you a beer later.” 

Fitz shuts his door and peels off his flannel, groaning as he falls onto his bed. He dreams of Jemma, beaming at him in a diner booth. In his dreams, she doesn’t look exhausted and a little bit broken. In his dreams, she leans over and kisses him at her doorstep.


	3. why i'm alone and freezing (while you're in the bed that she's in)

Every now and then, Fitz has to pinch his arm to remind himself that Jemma Simmons has actually returned to his life. In the three weeks since their blowout fight and makeup breakfast, she’d been spending most days in his apartment. They watched TV, went for walks, drank tea and chatted about their favorite books or movies. More often than not, these chats escalated into lengthy arguments. In those instances, Jemma would jump up and bang on poor Trip’s door until he agreed to settle it. He almost always sided with Jemma. 

Which is the exact situation that Fitz now finds him in as he hears Trip give Jemma the tie-breaking vote in the great Wes Anderson vs. David Fincher debate. Fitz makes a vague noise of protest, but has already shifted his attentions elsewhere. 

“Not my fault she’s cute as hell,” Trip grins with a shrug. “But as cute as you are, girl, I gotta finish my charts before my shift.” 

Trip laughs warmly at her pout and pushes her softly out of his doorway, shutting the door. She giggles and skips back into the living room where Fitz had resumed his writing. 

“Trip seems to like you,” he says, trying very hard to sound nonchalant. 

“Oh, he’s like that with everyone,” Jemma dismisses him, waving her hand. “Mind if I put some music on?” 

Fitz nods distractedly, tapping his pen on his notebook with his eyes screwed shut as he tries to find the word he wants. Jemma looks through his familiar vinyl collection, grinning as she finds the one she wants. She removes the album and places it on the player, gently dropping the needle on the line. 

Fitz opens his eyes as the beginning of Stubborn Love begins to play. He knows there’s no way that Jemma knows that he’d laid on his floor for weeks listening to this song on repeat after she’d left. The memory of the horrible months he’d lived through after her sudden departure bubbles up to the surface and he quickly squashes it back down as Jemma slowly begins to move. 

“She’ll lie and steal and cheat,” he finds himself singing under his breath. “Beg you from her knees, make you think she means it this time.” 

Her eyes shut blissfully and she rocks slowly from side to side for a moment. The wood floors of his apartment feel familiar beneath her sock-clad feet, and she tentatively slides her feet into fourth position. All of Fitz’s dark thoughts escape him as she raises her arms and does a swift pas de duex. Her lips quirk into a little smile and Fitz grins into his hand as he watches her become swept away by the music. 

She moves hesitantly but begins to pick up her pace with the music. Her eyes lift open ever so slightly to gauge the distance between herself and the window before she executes a chain of pique turns. Fitz marvels at the perfect poise of her body and as she bends backward gracefully, he recalls the other kind of bending backward that she does in the evenings. 

He hasn’t been back to Badlands since the night that Hunter had tricked them both. Jemma has repeatedly told him that she wouldn’t mind if he was there and that it might be nice to see a friendly face—she even suggested that he pretend to be a paying customer on nights when customers got too handsy and she needed a break, but he can’t quite bring himself to return. At least not yet.

His phone buzzes beside him and he’s torn from his reverie by a text from Callie. 

[Callie]: What are you up to?? 

He holds back a sigh as he glances back at Jemma’s transition from an arabesque to a beautiful series of pirouettes that nearly leaves him breathless. For a moment he forgets the task at hand before he quickly types out a reply. 

[Fitz]: Just at home with Jemma. You?

[Callie]: Oh. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the park but I guess not. 

Fitz tosses his phone to the side in irritation. He’d never meant for things to get serious between them, but lately she’d been pushing and he didn’t have it in him to just give it to her straight. Besides, sitting around by himself while Jemma and Hunter were at the club and Trip was at the hospital had started to drive him mad. On those nights, he would usually end up at Callie’s. 

[Callie]: So Jemma gets to go to your place but I don’t? 

Fitz physically rolls his eyes at her second message and Jemma catches it as she opens her eyes. 

“Sorry,” she says softly. “I just haven’t been anywhere with enough room to do that in—well, years, probably.” 

“No, no,” he quickly corrects. “I wasn’t rolling my eyes at you. It’s good to see you dance again. You look--peaceful.” 

She gives him a quick grin and starts to move again, eyes wide open as she speaks to him. “More peaceful then I do on a pole?” 

He snorts and takes a sip of his beer. “Still don’t know how you manage that. You never struck me as the athletic type.” 

Her jaw drops open. “Leo Fitz! I’ll have you know I was quite the nubile young prodigy.” 

“With above average fashion sense,” he finishes. “Can’t believe you still say that.” 

“It’s true,” she says primly before sitting back down on the couch and throwing her feet casually over his lap. She’d always invaded his space this way, and in the last few days she’d begun doing it again. 

“If you weren’t rolling your eyes at me, then what had you all grumpy?” 

“I wasn’t grumpy!” 

She gives him a knowing look with raised eyebrows and he gives in immediately. 

“Just—this girl I’ve been seeing,” he says carefully, peeling the label on his bottle. Jemma’s tongue darts out to wet her lips before she speaks, and he’s momentarily distracted by the action. 

“Oh. I can head home if you—“ 

“No!” he says quickly. “No, it’s totally fine. I’m not really sure what I want from her anyway.” 

Jemma huffs lightly and leans her cheek against the back of the couch. He leans back to look at her better and she pokes him lightly on his forearm. 

“Well, there’s always been one tried and true test to figure out your feelings,” she tells him softly. “Do you write about her?” 

A muscle twitches in his jaw as he glances down at the notebook on his lap, each page covered in scribbles about the beautiful girl staring at him with guarded hazel eyes. 

“Sometimes,” he lies. 

She licks at her lips again and he’s temporarily dumfounded by the action before he snaps back to reality. 

“Well, then perhaps you just need some more time,” she assures him with a small pat on the leg. He opts for a quick change of subject. 

“Sure you don’t want a beer?” he offers, standing up to get another one. 

“Why not?” 

She catches it as he tosses it to her, and then immediately holds it out for him to open. He does so easily and hands it back, and he almost misses the pleased smirk on her face. 

“What now?” 

“Nothing,” Jemma practically squeaks. 

“Jemma, you’ve always been a crap liar.” 

“It’s just—this is nice. You and me, nonverbally communicating.” 

He grins back at her. “It is, isn’t it?” 

She clinks her drink against his. “Cheers, Leo.” 

“Nobody’s called me that in so long.” 

“I’ll stop, if you’d like.” 

“No, I don’t mind it. Not from you. Just try to keep it to a minimum in front of Hunter, yeah?” 

“You mean Lance?” Jemma chuckled. “Alright, but for the record, I think Leo is a much better name than Lance.”

They fall into silence, the record spinning and filling the apartment with music. 

“You should find a place to dance again,” Fitz says suddenly, piercing through the calm. Her eyes snap to him quickly. 

“I don’t even know where my pointe shoes are,” she finally responds. 

Fitz scoffs. “That’s a blatant lie. I bet you twenty dollars that they’re tied to the handle of your bedroom door.” 

Her face flushes and she chooses to lift the bottle to her lips instead. 

“I knew it!” Fitz crows, poking at her leg. “You’re so predictable.” 

They get so caught up in their laughter and teasing that Fitz forgets all about the fact that he has roommates. Trip emerges from his room dressed in his navy blue scrubs, and Fitz feels the jealousy in him bubble as he exchanges quips and smiles with Jemma. He hasn’t known Trip for very long, but he can already tell that he’s pretty smitten with Jemma, and he can’t even blame him for it. 

“Told you she’d be here,” Hunter declares loudly as he enters the apartment with Bobbi in tow. 

Bobbi rolls her eyes and breaks away from his hand in hers. “I was banging on your door for like, twenty minutes today. Some dude showed up looking for you.” 

All of the color drains from Jemma’s face, and Fitz feels a combination of protective outrage and morbid curiosity. Whoever this person is, maybe he has something to do with why she left. 

“What did he—what did he look like?” she asks, desperately trying to control her voice. 

Bobbi begins to look concerned too. “He was well-dressed, not much taller than you. Definitely didn’t look like he belonged in our building—said his name was Sunil?” 

“Did he say what he wanted?” 

“Not really,” Bobbi responds tentatively. “Jemma, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah…just fine. I just need to make a quick phone call. Leo, mind if I go in your room?” 

“Go ahead,” he tells her. As the door shuts, the remaining occupants of the living room stare at each other in varying degrees of confusion. 

“Okay, that was weird,” Bobbi says, pointing to Fitz’s room. “She always tells me what’s up.” 

“As much as I’d like to stay and figure this out, I gotta get going. Let Jemma know if she needs anything I’m here,” Trip says as he hoists his backpack on. “I’ll see y’all later.” 

“Skye?!” Jemma exclaims loudly from the other room. “Oh, thank God.” 

Her voice becomes muffled again and Fitz shifts. She’d mentioned Skye at the diner that first night, something about Skye needing her. He hadn’t even thought about where Skye must be. If Jemma had moved here for her, then why hadn’t Jemma even mentioned her again? Shouldn’t they at least be spending time together, if not living together? 

“Do you live with Jemma?” Fitz asks Bobbi suddenly. 

She shakes her head. “No, but I got her the apartment in my building when she first got here and started working at Badlands.” 

“She didn’t already have a place to stay?” 

Bobbi shakes her head. “No, she was sleeping in a car for the first few weeks, I think.” 

Fitz pinches at the bridge of his nose again, fighting against the urge to hit something as he imagines Jemma curled up in the backseat of a car in the pouring Seattle rain, completely alone. Jemma hangs up the phone and goes straight from Fitz’s bedroom to the bathroom. Bobbi and Hunter begin murmuring to one another in the kitchen and he listens intently as the water from the sink begins to run. He can’t help himself as he gets up and knocks gently on the door. 

“Jemma? Are you alright?” 

“Yes!” she chirps back, but her voice is strangely thick. “Just one minute!” 

He sighs, knocking his forehead on the door and walking back to the living room. 

‘Whoever that guy is, she’s obviously afraid of him,” Bobbi whispers to Hunter. “And to be honest, he was pretty creepy. I don’t think she should go home.” 

“Me either,” Hunter answers. “I’ll bring her back here after work, she can crash on the couch.” 

Bobbi curses under her breath. “Fuck, she’s working the Champagne Room tonight.” 

He quirks an eyebrow. “Seriously? I thought she said she wouldn’t do that.” 

“Yeah, well, Ward threatened her yesterday, so—“ 

“He what?” Fitz cuts in. 

Bobbi tenses. “He threatened to fire Jemma if she didn’t work the Champagne Room tonight.” 

They go quiet as Jemma emerges from the bathroom with a heavy sigh. “Are you all done talking about me now?” 

“We’re just worried about you, love,” Hunter tells her gently. Her face softens and she nods. 

“I’m okay. I promise. Just—some stuff I would rather not discuss, if that’s alright.” 

Fitz is pretty sure that he’s going to bite through his tongue if he keeps going on this way, but he knows if he pushes her too far she’ll run again. As much as he hates this, he’s not sure he could survive losing her again. 

“Want to go have a smoke?” Fitz offers, wanting to get her alone. She considers this for a moment before finally nodding and putting Fitz’s brown leather jacket around her body as she grabs her beer to take with her. He leads the way outside onto the stoop, and she sits beside him, looking for all the world like she’s ready to run at any given moment. 

She hands him his pack of cigarettes and shakes her head when he offers her one. “I just wanted to get some air.” 

Fitz nods in understanding as he lights up. “Look, Jemma—you don’t have to tell me what’s going on. I have to accept that things are different between us now, but—“ 

“Things aren’t different.” 

“You used to tell me everything. For whatever reason, you can’t anymore but I’m trying really hard to just trust you, okay? So I’m not going to pry. You can come to me when you want but please at least sleep here tonight. Whoever that guy is, he’s got you all tetchy and frightened and I’d rather you not be alone and afraid.” 

She looks as though she might cry when she looks up from her socked feet to stare at him. “I don’t want to intrude.” 

Fitz scoffs, switching his cigarette into his other hand so that he can push her lightly on the arm. “Shut up and say yes.” 

“Yes,” she smiles. “Okay. I’ll stay here for a bit. When I get ready for work I’ll pack up some stuff.” 

He immediately feels a wave of relief overcome him as she squeezes his hand in gratitude. She doesn’t let go of his hand until after he finishes his cigarette and uses it to haul her up to her feet. He tries not to think too much about that as his phone buzzes in his pocket with another message from Callie. 

*** 

The thought of Jemma working in the Champagne Room nearly drives him mad after she’s left with Hunter and Bobbi to get ready for work and gather her things. He paces around the apartment, then tries to distract himself with video games. That doesn’t work either, and he finds he can’t focus on a book or on writing. He already has more than enough to send to his editor anyway, so he doesn’t worry too much about that. Fitz finally gives up on resisting his greatest distraction and calls up Callie to meet him for a drink. 

It’s all a pretense and they both know it as they make small talk while sucking down drinks at the pub down the road from her apartment. She’s telling him about her day at the bookstore where he met her during a reading, and he’s pretending to be interested while periodically checking his watch and trying not to be ill at the thought of what Jemma might be doing. 

Callie snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Fitz? Are you even hearing me right now?” 

“What? Yeah, sorry,” he starts. “Just uh—thinking about a line I’m trying to work out.” 

“Maybe I can help,” Callie says brightly. She’s a good literature critic and he knows it; that’s what had intrigued him about her in the first place. A small part of him has always wondered if he’s just a trophy for her case, given her history of dating acclaimed poets, but he finds he doesn’t much care. He’s not particularly invested in her anyway. 

It’s not entirely a lie, either. Fitz has been turning the same words over in his head for two days, and it’s starting to drive him a little crazy, so he digs around in his pocket for a pen and jots it down on a napkin, sliding it over to her and taking a hefty sip from his whiskey. 

“You are a fever I am learning to live with,” she reads, “and everything is happening in the wrong order.” 

She peeks at him curiously. “Who’s this about?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Her face morphs into a pleased little grin and Fitz feels his blood run cold. Oh, God. She thinks he wrote that about her. Callie crosses her arms on the table and leans forward, giving him a generous glimpse down her top. 

“I think ‘wrong order’ is a little out of place here. You’ve got such good imagery with the fever thing, and I think you should incorporate a different sense in the line. Maybe something about taste or sound.” 

He manages to get past his utter panic at her misunderstanding to hear what she’s saying, and he finds he actually agrees with her. He snatches the napkin back and quickly crosses out the last phrase, replacing it with some alternate ones underneath. He closes his eyes and tries to think of the best way to explain what it had felt like to see Jemma again for the first time. 

“You are a fever I am learning to live with,” he mutters, “and everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel.” 

She lets out a low whistle. “That takes it to kind of a dark place though, don’t you think? I like to think we have more fun than that.”

He wants to tell her that the line isn’t even about her, but then she’ll leave and he’ll be left alone again, trying not to think of Jemma as a hurricane. He swallows hard instead and just opts for a shrug. 

“Wanna get out of here?” she offers, and he immediately accepts. His physical relationship with Callie is the only thing that numbs him to the anxiety that he feels whenever Jemma is at work. Fitz follows her to his apartment and lets himself get carried away in the tactile world. It’s easier to forget to remember her this way. It’s easier to tuck away the constant fear in the back of his mind that she’s going to fall for his roommate; it’s easier to hide from the bigger fear that she’s in serious trouble and that he can’t save her from it. It’s just a hell of a lot easier than living his real life. 

He’s able to channel all of his frustrations and apprehensions into Callie, biting and scratching and bruising kisses. She seems to like it when he’s like this, and that’s a godsend in itself. He wonders if she’s aware that it’s not her that does this to him, but he doubts it. Callie lives in a reality that she chooses for herself, and Fitz envies her for that. 

When all is said and done, he’s exhausted emotionally and physically spent. He rolls off of her and does his best not to flinch when she curls up on his side and drifts to sleep. He glances at the clock and see that’s it’s only 10 p.m. He can afford to shut his eyes for a few hours; he’ll still make it back before Jemma and Hunter get back. Fitz has never slept well at Callie’s, so he’s sure he’ll be up in time. 

It turns out that he’s wrong. The whiskey and the sex and the entire stress of the day knocked him out for longer than he expected, and he doesn’t wake up until nearly three a.m. He curses harshly and climbs clumsily over Callie’s sleeping form to scramble into his clothes. He glances at the screen on his phone and kicks himself when he sees two missed calls from Jemma. How the hell had he slept through that? 

“Fitz? Where are you going?” 

“I have to head home,” he tells her. 

“Why?” she mumbles into her pillow. 

“Don’t worry about it, go back to sleep.” 

“Hey Fitz?” 

“Yeah?” he nearly snaps in impatience. 

“You’re a fever, too.” 

He gulps down a breath and leaves without responding to her. As soon as he’s out the door, he’s dialing Jemma again. His heart stops when Lance answers it.

“Where the hell have you been?” Hunter barks. 

“I was busy,” Fitz answers defensively. “Why d’you have Jemma’s phone?” 

“She’s asleep now. We’ll talk about it when you get home.” 

He considers trying to find a cab, but Seattle is nothing like New York and they’re not everywhere. Instead, he takes off running faster than he ever has in his life. By the time he reaches his building, he has to double over with his hands on his knees to try to breathe. All of his muscles burn with protest at the activity but he pushes forward and dashes up the stairs, shaking hands opening the lock with difficulty as he pushes through the door. He finds Bobbi and Hunter in the living room, mugs in their hands as they talk seriously to one another. 

“What’s going on?” Fitz pants, wiping at the sweat building on his face. “Is she okay?” 

Bobbi’s face falls. “She’s okay. She’s asleep in your bed. We didn’t think you’d be coming home tonight so we put her in there.” 

“Why did she call me?” 

“She just—had a rough night, that’s all,” Hunter replies coolly. Fitz narrows his eyes and steps forward. 

“I’d appreciate it if you just told me what the hell happened.” 

“Whoever that guy was that was at her apartment earlier booked the Champagne Room for an hour,” Bobbi says, ignoring Hunter’s protest. “When he came out, she was pretty shaken up.” 

“Did he hurt her?” Fitz immediately asks. 

“No,” Hunter answers. “At least not that I can tell. She was retching in the back alley when we found her, though.” 

Accepting that they don’t have any more information, Fitz backs out of the room and slowly opens his door. Jemma lays in his bed, hair covering her face. She’s all twisted up in the sheets, wearing a t-shirt of his that exposes the length of her legs. His stomach unravels a little bit when he sees her, and he can’t help himself from kicking off his shoes and lying down beside her. She’s shoved practically into the window, and he tugs her away from it a little bit, not wanting her to somehow fall out of the opening. 

He reaches up to brush her hair out of her face and she stirs. “Fitz?” 

“Hey, Jemma,” he whispers gently. “Go back to bed.” 

She shakes her head and scoots closer to him. “Will you stay with me?” 

“Of course.” 

She relaxes and shuts her eyes again, tentatively sliding her ankle over his. He manages to shrug out of his jacket and toss it onto the floor as gently as possible, thinking she’s already slipped back into sleep. She breaks the silence and proves him wrong. 

“Were you at your girlfriend’s place?” 

His heart completely stops, and for a moment he doesn’t think it’s going to start pumping again. He doesn’t know why he keeps lying to both of the girls in his life about the other one, or why he thinks Jemma would even care. 

“Nevermind. Don’t answer that,” Jemma speaks again before he even has a chance to formulate a response. Her voice is slightly slurred with exhaustion, and Fitz lets out a shaky breath and tries to calm himself down. He feels her leg twitch in a familiar indication that she’s officially fallen asleep; it takes him nearly an hour to follow her. 

When he wakes up, she’s having tea with Bobbi on his couch and Hunter is working on some breakfast. He assumes Trip is still asleep; he tends to sleep into the afternoon on days that he’s worked a night shift. 

Jemma glances up at him and quirks her lips up slightly. She’s still wearing his shirt, but she’s slipped into a pair of leggings underneath it. Watching her tease his roommate and chat so effortlessly with Hunter’s girlfriend leaves a longing in his chest that he can’t even describe, and the longing transforms very quickly into anger. 

This could have been their life for years. She’d left him high and dry, kissed him and disappeared. He still hadn’t asked her what the hell she’d meant by that, and he was pretty sure she didn’t think he knew it even happened. But then she’s handing him a cup of tea just the way he likes it and her fingertips brush against his and she’s real again. 

She’s real and she’s here, and even though she still looks a little bit afraid, she seems to have recovered nicely from the night before. 

She’s a fever and he’s always known that he can’t sweat her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final iteration of Fitz's poetry line is from Richard Silken. I thought about trying to write his poetry, and some of it will be mine later in the story--but I really like Silken and he's infinitely more talented than I am. I'll make sure to credit all of Fitz's work, either to the real poets or to myself. 
> 
> Sneak peak for next chapter: 
> 
> Jemma, who has been suspiciously quite, looks miserably at her empty drink. “I’m a dancer as well.” 
> 
> Callie’s head snaps to look at Fitz and he leans back in surprise. 
> 
> “You told me she was a ballerina,” she hisses at him. Jemma tenses across the table and clenches her empty glass with white knuckles. 
> 
> “I’m going to get a drink!” she says loudly, standing up quickly. Hunter takes one look at her face and jumps up as well.


	4. now i've got you in my space (i'm latching on to you)

They’re walking through the park, cups of tea cupped in cold hands, when she tells him. He nearly pops the lid off of his paper cup when he clenches it. 

“Trip asked me out,” she blurts suddenly, words blending together with the speed of it. 

He certainly wasted no time, Fitz thinks bitterly. He almost voices this, but thinks better of it. He then realizes he hasn’t spoken. “Oh?” 

“I said no,” Jemma admits, voice a little sad. For a moment he feels panicked before he reminds himself that Jemma has never suspected his tumultuous feelings for her. She didn’t notice in New York and she certainly didn’t notice now, not when there were still so many tense silences and long pauses full of the years they’d lost. 

“That’s too bad. He’s a good guy,” Fitz replies lamely. 

“He is, isn’t he?” she practically whispers. 

“Jemma?” he asks cautiously. “You okay?” 

“It’s just—he’s such a good guy, and I’m not a good girl,” she confesses. Her voice breaks on the last word and he stops walking, tugging her back and tilting her face up with his free hand, forcing her to look at him. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” he murmurs. “I don’t—I obviously don’t know everything that’s going on with you, but no matter what, Jemma--you might not be a good girl but you’re a good person.” 

She remains silent and she sniffles, tilting her glance upward to stop the tears building in her eyes. 

“Fuck being a good girl,” Fitz tells her, suddenly emboldened. “You’re bright, and funny, and intelligent. You’re unbelievably talented. You dropped everything and moved 3,000 miles away from your dream to help someone that you love. What you do for a living is immaterial, okay? There’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with you. Everything you do is out of love. Even when you don’t do things well, you do them right.” 

As the words tumble out of him, he tries desperately to remember them for when he has a pen and paper. Jemma lets out a breathy laugh and launches herself at him, causing him to stumble as she presses against him. He grins into her hair as he holds her carefully. 

“You always know what to say. Having a poet for a best friend has made me rather cocky, you know.” 

She finally smiles, even though her eyes are bright with moisture, and the tension in his shoulders relaxes in response. 

“Don’t let your head get too big,” he teases, squeezing her arm lightly. “You’re just slightly more inspiring than Hunter.” 

She giggles and kicks playfully at the toe of his boot. “Really, Leo. Thank you. I feel better now.” 

“Think you’ll change your mind?” he can’t help but ask. She bites her lip and shrugs. 

“I would consider it, maybe. But I don’t know—there’s not really room in my life for that kind of thing. There hasn’t been in a long time.” 

He lets that statement dangle as he leads her out of the park and toward their actual destination. Ever since he’d seen her dancing in his living room, he’d wanted to make sure she had a place to do that regularly. A week or so after she’d started staying at his place, he’d gotten another check for royalties on his book, and he knew exactly what to do with the rest of it. 

“You brought your toe shoes right?” 

“Yes, Fitz, I brought my pointe shoes,” she corrects with a small roll of her eyes. He grins at her cheekily; it’s always pleased him to screw up ballet terminology. There’s something cute about her know-it-all voice. 

“Oh hey, before I forget, I have a reading with some stuff from my new book coming up next weekend.” 

Jemma beams. “Oh, how exciting! I haven’t heard you read in so long.” 

He smiles back at her, feeling his face flushing as he remembers the many nights he’d read to Jemma, just the two of them. Callie was a good critic, but nobody was better for his writing than Jemma. Her face suddenly falls. 

“Oh, I’ll have to see if I can get off of work…” 

“Well, if you can’t, it’s uh—it’s no big deal,” he mumbles, scratching behind his ear awkwardly. It is a big deal, and he can tell that she knows it, too. She lets out a frustrated little huff. 

“I’ll do it. I’ll find a way,” she tells him determinedly. “I promise, I’ll be there.” 

He gives her a weak smile and a nod, but his enthusiasm picks up again as they get closer. 

“Where exactly are you taking me, Leo?” 

“Just wait,” Fitz sighs. “Impatient, you are.” 

She scrunches her face at him and smacks him lightly on the arm, making him smile the sidewalk. She links her arm through his and when they reach the studio, he stops her. 

“Here we are,” he announces, gesturing at the sign. 

“Jet City Dance,” she reads quietly. “Leo, what is this?” 

“C’mere.” 

He pulls her in to the door and waves at the girl at the front desk, who smiles back at him and gives him a thumbs up. 

“So, I know you said you don’t really have space to do ballet anymore. And that’s a fucking shame, Jemma, because you’re just—you’re so good at it, and you love it. It’s part of who you are. I know you feel a little…um, a little lost. And a lot like you’ve changed and—well, I just wanted to…to help. With that.” 

He finally just shakes his head at himself and pushes through the door at the end of the hallway, leading her into an empty studio. She stands in the middle of it, staring at his face in the wall of mirrors on one side of the room. 

“Leo..?” 

“This place is yours, twice a week. From two to four p.m. It’s reserved for the next three months, and—“ 

The way she collides with him causes him to let out a small, vaguely disgruntled breath of air. Her arms are around his neck so tightly that he wouldn’t be surprised if he bruises. 

Then she’s sobbing, and he feels like he’s made the biggest mistake of his life. 

“Oh, God, Jemma, no, I didn’t mean to—“ 

“No, no,” she cries. “I’m not—I’m just so—I’m so grateful, and happy. And what did I ever do to deserve you, Leo Fitz?” 

“Stop,” he tells her, embarrassed. He gently steps back from her and on impulse drops a kiss to her forehead. She hiccups again, wiping at her pink cheeks. 

“Can you show me how to use the speakers?” she asks quietly. He grins and nods, taking her to the corner. 

“If you want to bring CDs, you just put them in right here. But if you would rather hook up an iPod or something, here’s the jack for it. Push this button and you’re set.” 

She dashes over to her bag and digs out the same iPod video she’d had in New York. 

“How does that thing still work?” 

“Hey, he serves me very well, thank you,” she teases. Jemma plugs it in and hands it to him. “Pick a song while I put on my shoes!” 

She skips back to her bag and shrugs out of her bulky cardigan, leaving her in a simple, fitted black tank and her jeans. 

“I’m afraid I won’t have much flexibility in these, but I’ll manage. They’re fairly stretchy,” she mumbles, partially to herself, as she puts a pair of toe pads on before slipping into her black pointe shoes. He selects a song and then leans against the wall as he watches her lace them up. Leo has seen her do this a million times before, but there’s something so calming about the ritual of it, and he sees all tension leave her body as she finishes up. 

“Don’t you need to warm up first?” 

She shakes her head, sending her damp hair wildly dancing around her face. “I won’t be doing anything too wild. Music, please.” 

He grins and shakes his head at her excitement, pressing play on the device in his hand. The opening notes flow out of the speakers and she looks like she might cry all over again. 

“You remembered,” she whispers across the room. 

“ ‘Course I did,” he tells her gruffly, trying to keep the thickness out of his own voice. He hasn’t listened to this song since she left and he’s surprised at how strong his response is to the sound of the piano. “It’s the song that was playing the first time you danced for just me.” 

The smile she gives him is watery, and she lets out a sharp little breath to compose herself before looking in the mirror and squaring her shoulders. 

“Let’s see if I remember it then, hm?”

He leans against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting against it, the instrumental music flooding the room as it increases in volume. He watches Jemma’s lips move silently as she counts herself in. The first time he watched her do this, he’d thought she had perfectly captured the title of the song; “River Flows in You” was the best phrase he could imagine for what Jemma was doing. 

Her steps now are almost the same, but a little different. As she loosens up, she begins to look more relaxed. Watching her dance in his living room had been nothing compared to this. She’d looked graceful twirling in her socks, but the poise and grace of her on her pointe shoes is unmatchable. 

She does a quick but somehow gentle tour jete, landing in a perfect arabesque and shoots him a little smile with a wink. She knows that’s his favorite move; he’s always just loved how it looks, and seeing her do one in this studio makes his heart swell up so much that it feels tight with happiness. Jemma continues to move, watching her form in the mirror, occasionally hissing under her breath or cursing lightly. She has to break out of a triple pirouette and when she lands clumsily, she shakes her head harshly, cheeks stained lightly pink. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Fitz calls out. “You’re doing amazing.” 

This seems to bolster her courage and she tries again. It takes her three tries, but eventually she nails all three with a perfect landing. He lets out a little whoop and claps for her enthusiastically. She grins at him, wide and open, and he thinks he could write an entire book of poems just about this one, simple moment. 

He forgets how quickly time flies when he watches Jemma dance, and soon it’s time for them to leave. 

“Fitz, really—I can’t thank you enough,” Jemma tells him as she picks up her bag off of the floor and grabs her sweater. Her skin shines with a thin sheen of sweat and his brain short circuits for a moment when she looks up at him with so much affection that it nearly kills him. 

“You really don’t have to.” 

“I’ll find some way to return the favor,” she tells him with a small hip check as they leave the studio. 

“Alright, Simmons, whatever,” he teases back. “D’you work tonight?” 

“Yep,” she says, popping the “p” and scuffing her shoe on the curb as they wait for traffic to pass. “Hopefully it’ll be an early night. Mondays usually are. Have any plans this evening?” 

Fitz shrugs. “Not really.” 

“You’re not going to go see Callie?” she asks, and then promptly takes interest in watching cars go by. 

He makes a vague noise and shrugs. “We’ll see, I guess.” 

“Any more thoughts on what you want from her?” 

He bites his lip and shakes his head before realizing that she’s studiously not looking at him. “Nah.” 

She nods and glances over at him. “You’ll probably need to figure it out soon, you know.” 

He does know. He knows that what he’s doing to Callie isn’t really fair (even if he has a sneaking suspicion that she might be doing the same to him). Fitz does not need anyone to tell him that he’s acting like a complete prick, all because he’s in love with a woman who abandoned him and now works in a strip club and won’t tell him why she always starts the night sleeping on his couch but somehow ends up in his bed by the morning. He really does not need the reminder, and a brief flare of anger wells up in him. 

“Yeah, Jemma. I get it, thanks.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, blinking rapidly. “It’s—I didn’t mean to—“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” he grunts. “I just—don’t want to talk about it, okay?” 

“Okay,” she says softly, placing her nervous hands in her back pockets. Her cell phone begins to ring and she glances down at the screen with a little smile before answering it. 

“Hey, London.” 

He rolls his eyes at Jemma and Hunter’s silly nicknames for one another. They’d briefly tried to call him Glasgow, but he’d put an end to that rather quickly. Bobbi is still petitioning for them to call her Oklahoma City, with little success. 

“What does she need?” Jemma talks into the phone. “Mhm…Yeah, okay…Hey, do you know who’s going to be on tonight?...Yep, sounds good if we get off early enough…oh, ew, Lance. That’s disgusting.” 

She hangs up and shakes her head, bemused. 

“What’s Hunter want?” 

“Oh, Bobbi needs to borrow my curling iron for work tonight. Ward has a new no straight hair rule,” she explains, rolling her eyes. 

“Honestly, as a man who has been to Badlands, I was definitely not paying attention to what any of you guys’ hair looked like.” 

Jemma tilts her head back with a little laugh. “Well, apparently chopping my hair off didn’t put me quite as undercover as I expected.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I’d recognize your face anywhere, Jemma. Give me more credit than that.” 

She smiles at him softly and they chat aimlessly as they walk back to Fitz’s apartment. Just as they walk in the door, Callie sends him a text about meeting up that night. He contemplates it and decides that he actually does need to take Jemma’s advice earlier. Jemma clicks on the electric kettle and props herself on the kitchen counter, waiting for it to boil, and he watches her little movements with rapidly quickening breath. 

She doesn’t love him like that. Maybe Callie could. Maybe he could learn to love Callie. Never like he loves Jemma, but he’ll never love anything the way that he loves her and he’d accepted that almost five years ago when he’d first met her. 

He texts her back and agrees to meet her at a bar after Jemma’s left for Badlands. Jemma asks what kind of tea he wants and he reminds himself that none of this means anything. Even if it feels like it most of the time, she’s not his live-in girlfriend. She’s just his best friend, surrounded in entirely too much mystery and too many secrets for him to even parse them all out. 

***   
He’s on his second drink with Callie, playing pool and kind of actually enjoying himself, when he feels it. Fitz has always had something of a Jemma-sense, and he turns toward the door just as his friends enter. 

He watches as Trip leads her into the bar with his hand on the small of her back, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest as Hunter and Bobbi trail in behind them. Bobbi makes a joke at Hunter’s expense, and he teases her back while Jemma giggles pleasantly. She puts her arm through Bobbi’s and drags her toward the bar; Fitz is secretly pleased to see that she’s not dangling all over Trip. 

“Fitz!” Trip calls out, waving at him. Callie straightens from the pool table and raises her eyebrows. 

“I didn’t know your friends would be out tonight.” 

“Neither did I,” Fitz grumbles as they approach. He exchanges greetings and pretends to not have noticed them come in with Bobbi and Jemma, who appear quickly. Jemma hands Trip a beer and keeps hold on a whiskey coke. He pecks her on the cheek in thanks and Fitz grits his teeth so hard he thinks they might crack.

Jemma straightens up as her eyes land on Callie and Fitz, and she immediately sticks her hand out to the other woman. Fitz isn’t sure when he’s started to classify Callie as “the other woman”, but he supposes it’s been some time now. 

“I’m Jemma,” she introduces with a friendly smile. 

“Callie.” 

Jemma raises her eyebrows slightly at her icy reception but shakes it off quickly and spots a table opening. “Oh look, some seats! Come join us when you’re through with your game?” 

Fitz nods at her, still unable to speak. She looks lovely, dressed in jeans and a flowing yellow blouse. She’s taken off most of her Hurricane makeup, as he prefers to call it, and she looks fresh-faced, if not a bit tired. Callie wins their game quickly, pulling him in for a kiss as she sinks the eight ball. 

“Sometimes I think you just let me win,” she whispers seductively against his neck. He shakes his head. 

“You’re just good at pool,” he says plainly, extracting himself from her. If she notices his stiffness, she doesn’t let on. “C’mon, let’s go sit with the gang.” 

When they reach the table, his friends are engaged in a spirited debate about the lyrics of a popular song. 

“No, no, that cannot be it!” Jemma squeals at Hunter. “I’m telling you, it’s ‘take a sip of my secret potion’, Hunter!” 

“I’m telling you, woman, it is not. It’s ‘take a look at my fancy lotion’! Bobbi, back me up.” 

Trip and Bobbi exchange amused glances and clink their glasses together. 

“Fitzy!” Bobbi cheers as he slides in to a seat. Callie sits beside him and immediately leans into him. Bobbi gives Fitz a skeptical look as Callie looks toward a cheering group of drinkers in the opposite corner. He shakes his head at her with a little grimace. Fitz does a quick lightning round of introductions, given that she hadn’t met anyone but Jemma. 

“So, Hunter, how did you and Bobbi meet?” Callie asks suddenly. Hunter looks at his girlfriend and throws an arm over her shoulders. 

“He runs security at the club Jemma and I work in,” Bobbi explains, gesturing vaguely to her friend across from her. 

“Ooh, what club?” Callie asks, leaning in with interest. “I might know it.” 

“Badlands,” Bobbi supplies. 

Callie wrinkles her brow. “Hm, I actually don’t think I know that one. Are you a bartender there?” 

“Oh, no,” Bobbi laughs. “I’ve tried getting behind the bar, but our bartender Kara is pretty protective of her spot. I’m a dancer.” 

Callie’s eyebrows rise in recognition and her mouth forms a perfect “o”. 

“And you, Jemma? What do you do there?” she asks slowly. Fitz wants to jump in, save them all from what’s about to happen, but it’s like his brain is no longer connected to mouth as he opens and closes it uselessly. 

Jemma, who has been suspiciously quiet, looks miserably at her empty drink. “I’m a dancer as well.” 

Callie’s head snaps to look at Fitz and he leans back in surprise at the sudden shift. 

“You told me she was a ballerina,” she hisses at him. Jemma tenses across the table and clenches her empty glass with white knuckles. 

“I’m going to get a drink!” she says loudly, standing up quickly. Hunter takes one look at her face and jumps up as well. 

“I’ll help.” 

Trip looks worriedly between Jemma and his roommate, but Hunter gives him a reassuring nod and takes off after her. Trip looks like he’s about to follow, too, and it kind of makes him feel sick.

Fitz turns back to the issue at hand. “She is! She just—also works at Badlands.” 

Callie gives him an appalled look and glares at him. “I can’t believe you’ve been spending all of your time with a fucking stripper, Fitz!” 

“Something wrong with that?” Bobbi cuts in, crossing her arms on top of the table. “Cause if you have a problem with it, you can take it up with the other stripper at this table, sweetheart.” 

Fitz hears Trip try to disguise a laugh with a coughing fit. 

“This has nothing to do with you,” she attempts to wave Bobbi off. 

Bobbi laughs coldly. “Oh, I think it really does.” 

Callie ignores her and turns back to Fitz. “This explains so much. How could I possibly compete with a goddamn stripper?! Things were going perfectly fine between us until she just suddenly waltzes back into your life, then it’s Jemma this and Jemma that—“ 

“Callie, would you please—“ Fitz starts, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He holds a hand out at her, urging her to stop making a scene. 

“Would I please what?! Not be pissed that you lied to me about hanging out with a whore every minute of every damn day? I just don’t get you, Fitz. You’re obviously embarrassed by it or you wouldn’t have fucking lied.” 

“Hey!” Hunter protests. Fitz drops his hand and opens his eyes; his gaze passes right over Hunter’s outraged Fitz and lands on Jemma’s devastated face. “You need to cut it out.” 

Callie scoffs. “Sorry, but I don’t think this is any of your business.” 

“You kind of made it my business,” Hunter presses. “You want to fight with Fitz, that’s your deal. But you don’t get to act like a little uppity bitch to Jemma.” 

“Hunter—“ Fitz starts. 

“Don’t even get me started with you,” Hunter growls. Then he notices that Jemma has disappeared from his side and curses. Bobbi stands immediately. 

“I’ll go check the bathroom.” 

“I’ll check outside,” Trip offers, desperate to get out of this conversation and to make sure that Jemma’s alright. 

“Callie,” Fitz says slowly, barely restraining his anger. “We obviously need to talk.” 

She raises her eyebrows at him. “You think?”

“Great, while you two assholes do that, I’m gonna go track down Jemma,” Hunter spits, storming off toward the back exit of the pub. 

“You shouldn’t have said those things,” Fitz says quietly, spinning his beer in his fingers. “She’s a really nice person, Callie.” 

“Nice? She’s a stripper, Fitz. What kind of person quits being a ballerina for the American Ballet Company to become a stripper?” 

“Her sister needed her help, and—“ 

“With what?” Callie exclaims, throwing her hands up. “What could possibly force her to do that?” 

“It doesn’t matter why,” Fitz tries, but then he starts to feel the gears turn in his own head again. He’s been telling himself that he’s totally fine with not knowing, but Callie’s words fuel the tiny fire of doubt and frustration that’s been boiling up inside him since he’d first seen Jemma on stage a month before. 

“I think it does,” Callie tells him. “And I think it’s weird that you don’t even seem to have an answer for it. Look, I’ve tried to be really cool about whatever’s going on between the two of you, but I don’t know if I can be anymore.” 

Fitz clenches his jaw. “There’s nothing going on between us, Callie. We’re friends. We’ve never been more than that.” 

“Maybe not to you, but to her, you are more than that, Fitz.” 

He looks up at her with wide blue eyes. Unable to form a response, he lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink. “Trust me, that’s really not the case.” 

Bobbi emerges and looks toward the table. She looks a little outraged that he’s still sitting there with Callie, but the concern on her face quickly overtakes the expression. He meets her eyes and she shakes her head; obviously Jemma had not been in the restroom. 

Then Hunter comes back in from the back, eyes systematically scanning the room. And lastly Trip enters from the front, meeting Bobbi near the door and shaking his head, gesturing and pointing down the block. 

They all turn to look at him, and he knows this is the moment. He either stays here with Callie, or he takes off in search of Jemma. 

He’s been searching for Jemma for years. Sometimes it feels like even when he had her, he’d been searching for her then, too. He’s sick and tired of losing all the games of hide and seek. Jemma has so many walls and complications and even though he’s written more in the last month than in two years, he’s also losing his mind trying to find answers in all of her microexpressions, and in all of her words. 

But then he thinks of the way she danced today, that little wink she’d thrown him. He remembers her handing him his tea and the way he’d woken up to her curled against him that morning. Her hair was in his mouth but he didn’t even care. The way she’d thrown herself on him, crying and joyous and warm. 

Even when he hates her, he loves her. 

“Callie, I’m sorry—I have to go,” he says firmly, standing and draining his beer as he holds up a hand to his friends to tell them to wait. 

He catches a flash of hurt on her face, but he doesn’t stick around to finish the conversation. Fitz jogs to the front of the bar, leading the charge to find Jemma. 

“I didn’t see her anywhere,” Trip explains. I went up and down the block, but it’s like she just disappeared.” 

Fitz closes his eyes, racking his brain for anything that might tell him where she’d run to. A memory clicks in his mind, when she was twenty and didn’t get the solo that she really thought she would. 

“Where’s the nearest freeway overpass?” he barks suddenly. Bobbi jumps, widening her eyes. 

“The nearest what?” 

“Freeway overpass!” 

“Um, the 405 one is a couple blocks down,” Hunter supplies. 

“Got it, thanks!” Fitz shouts, already breaking out into a run. It’s the second time in the last week that he’s run through this ridiculously hilly fucking city for Jemma Simmons, but he’s pretty sure he’d do it every day if he needed to. 

He finally reaches it, feet pounding the pavement over the sounds of dwindling city traffic. The rain starts to pour down and he thinks this would all be rather poetic if his heart wasn’t aching from overuse and worry. 

Jemma leans over the overpass, arms spread out as her hair whips around her face from the speed of the cars below. She leans forward a little further and doesn’t notice him and he approaches her slowly. Only when he’s close enough to touch her does she look at him, headlights illuminating her cheek. His eyes are drawn to her throat as she forcibly swallows. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, breathing heavily. “I should have—I should have said something.” 

“When?” Jemma demands, but her voice is more tired than it is angry. “When she said those things about me?” 

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Yes.” 

She crosses her arms over her stomach and leans back, away from him. “I never—I never asked for you to be this close to me again, Leo. And if you’re that embarrassed of me, then—“ 

“I’m not!” he exclaims quickly, reaching out toward her and then thinking better of it. “I just figured that Badlands and Hurricane and all that, it’s your business. When she asked me what you do, I told her you’re a ballerina because you are, Jemma. I didn’t lie.” 

Jemma huffs lightly, deflating slightly. He chews on his lip and decides that it’s time to go for it. 

“I have to know,” he spits out. “I need to know why you left. I don’t care what you do at night but I need to know why you left New York. Why you—why you left me.” 

The strength of his voice drops out at the end and he wonders if she can even hear him over the rush of traffic and the whooshing sounds that the rain makes as it falls on them. Her yellow top clings to her desperately and he feels an irrational flare of jealousy toward the fabric. 

She opens her mouth to speak and he leans intently toward her, waiting for the words that will explain the last two meaningless years of his life. 

“It’s—it’s a rather long story, Leo,” she murmurs as a shiver tears through her. 

“Christ, Jemma, you’re gonna catch your death,” Fitz fusses, moving forward and rubbing his wet hands over her arms. “C’mon, let’s get a cab. We’ll talk at home, alright?” 

He expects her to beg off, find some excuse for why they don’t need to have this conversation, but instead she just nods. It’s still early enough that the cabs are driving up and down Pike Street, and he flags one down easily. She stares at his profile the entire way home, and he pretends not to notice as his knee bounces anxiously—he’s finally about to know. 

He just hopes that he’s prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case you didn't catch it, the song title of what Jemma dances to is in there. It's River Flows in You by Yiruma. I think it's such a beautiful song, and I think it'd make for a beautiful contemporary pointe piece. I'm thinking about making a playlist of the music in this fic/the music that inspired it, because I feel like music is a really central aspect of the story. 
> 
> Fitz is finally going to find out!! Stay tuned!!


	5. you still make sense to me (your mess is mine)

When they get back to Fitz’s apartment, everyone is in their respective rooms already. Jemma shivers lightly as they shuffle their way to his room, and Fitz immediately tosses her a pair of her leggings and her favorite hoodie of his. Jemma thanks him softly, peeling her top over her head and tossing it into the corner. He quickly averts his eyes as she changes and she laughs lightly. 

“Only you would be a perfect gentleman to a stripper.” 

He shoots her an annoyed look, keeping his eyes firmly trained on her face as she frees herself from her wet denim. “You’re my best friend, of course I’m not gonna—ogle you like that.” 

She rolls her eyes but her smile is pleased. “I did give you a lap dance, you know.” 

Fitz groans, taking off his jacket and slipping a jumper on over his own damp clothing. “I thought we agreed that we would never discuss that.” 

“Fine, fine,” she teases, crawling onto the bed. She immediately plugs in the Christmas lights that line the top of his room and he takes the cue to turn off the bright lamp on his nightstand. Jemma curls herself up toward the corner of the bed, fiddling nervously with the strings of the hoodie wrapped around her. 

“Whatever it is, Jemma, it’s okay,” Fitz assures her quietly. She reaches her hand out and places it over his, face anxious and tight. He places his other hand on top of hers and nods lightly. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

“Just, first things first—I want you to know that I realize I’m about to sound crazy. Absolutely certifiable, honestly.” 

“Alright. I’ll keep that in mind, then.” 

She takes a deep breath and lets it out haltingly. He doesn’t try to make her meet his eyes; he’s not sure if he can look at her anyway, with his heart pounding so hard against his ribcage. 

“Two days before I left, I got a call from Skye. I hadn’t heard from her in months. You probably remember that she’s an investigative journalist, right?” she asks. Fitz nods hesitantly. “Well, she’s spent basically her entire life trying to find her parents, and she’s just—she’s a really big idealist. She thinks all information should be public. Power to the people, all that kind of thing. So while she’s rooting through files and information in Seattle trying to find anything at all on where she came from, she finds some stuff about a group that calls themselves Hydra.” 

“Hydra?” 

“Yes. So, they call themselves Hydra, and all she could find out about whoever leads this group was that everyone calls him the Clairvoyant. Hydra is—a criminal organization, basically. There’s a lot of money and drugs and violence that flows through them, and she found that a lot of big names were in Hydra’s pocket.” 

“Okay, but how does this end up with you at Badlands?” 

“I’m getting to that,” she huffs impatiently. “She figured out all these things, and she managed to trace a lot of their activity to Badlands. She got a job there pretty easily, and her and Ward hit it off. She didn’t think he was actually involved with all the Hydra nonsense, whatsoever. Skye didn’t mean to end up dating him, but it seemed convenient because she could get ahold of records more easily.” 

She runs a hand through her hair and leans further back into the wall, slipping her hand out of his and hugging her knees. His heart begins to race even faster at her protective pose. 

“Then she started to notice things. There’s a whole bunch of things that happened, but she basically realized that not only was Ward a member of Hydra, he was essentially the Clairvoyant’s right hand man. You weren’t living here at the time, so you probably didn’t hear about it, but the Chief of Police was murdered—and Skye had some evidence that proved that Ward was the one who killed Chief Hand.” 

Fitz’s breath quickens as Jemma flinches. 

“Ward realized that she knew, even though she was still pretending to be Daisy Johnson, the Badlands stripper that he fell for. He told the Clairvoyant about her, and he—“ 

Her voice breaks off and she squeezes her eyes shut. “He had Skye shot, twice in the stomach. Ward swore up and down that he didn’t think that would happen, and that he loved her and that he owes the Clairvoyant everything, whatever that means—but obviously it’s all bullshit. Ward isn’t just an asshole. The man is a cold blooded killer. As soon as she was able, she discharged herself from the hospital, wiped herself out of all records, and disappeared. A few weeks later, some Hydra thugs showed up at her hotel room. They’ve been tracking her ever since. That’s when she called me for help.” 

All of this information swirls around his brain and he blinks sluggishly. “Jemma, this is—this is insane.” 

“I know it is!” she exclaims defensively. “And I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t spent the last two years seeing it first hand.” 

“But why did you leave? Why not have Skye come to New York?” 

“She didn’t want to draw them out to me. They have no idea that Skye and I have any kind of relationship. She didn’t communicate with me at all while she was working on her expose. The only way for her to be safe is if we stop the Clairvoyant. So that’s what I’ve been doing, I’ve been gathering as much information as I possibly can. Ward is the second in command to whoever this Clairvoyant is, and he’s the only way I can get what I need.” 

Fitz sits in silence for a while, studying his hands as he processes everything that she’s just told him. “Well, you were right about one thing. I would have tried to stop you. Jemma, if all of this is true—what you’re doing is incredibly dangerous.” 

“I’m working with an investigator!” Jemma rushes to say. “Her name is Melinda May, she works in Organized Crime. She’s so good, they call her the Cavalry.” 

“Jemma, you’re risking your life for this. And it’s been years.” 

“You know about my parents, Leo,” Jemma says quietly. “Skye was the only person who ever saw me. She didn’t see what I could do. She never made comments about my weight, or my practice times. She couldn’t have cared less if I was Clara or not. She cared that I was healthy, that I loved to dance. I wasn’t a child prodigy with her, I was just—Jemma Simmons. They sent her back because they said she was a distraction. I’ll never forgive myself for that.” 

Fitz furrows his brow. “That’s not your fault.” 

“I just—I need you to understand how much she means to me. And I need you to know that you meant—that you mean—just as much to me. But they’ve been hunting her down for years. If Skye and I hadn’t found May, I don’t know if she’d even be alive. Besides, my work is almost done.”

“What d’you mean?” 

“May and I have narrowed it down to three suspects that we think might be the Clairvoyant. It shouldn’t be much longer, and then this whole nightmare will be over.” 

“Does Bobbi know?” he asks. “You two seem close.” 

“We are,” Jemma admits. “But no, she doesn’t know anything. The only people who know are me, May, and Skye. Well, and now you. I—I’ve kept this from you because if anything happened to you because of this, Leo---” 

Fitz lets out a long calming breath, palming his eyes with his hands. “I just—this is—this is insane. I assumed that Skye was just really broke, or had a drug problem or something. I didn’t think you were some sort of undercover informant.” 

“When I moved here, I was so afraid of all of this,” she says, hands beginning to trembling. “I had nowhere to live, I didn’t know anybody, and I’m a horrible liar, we all know that. But I’m here now, and it’s almost over.” 

“What happens to you when this is over?” Fitz asks, shifting to lay on his side so that he can face her. She watches his movements and mimics them, curling her hands up under her face. 

“I don’t know,” Jemma murmurs. “I’d like to start dancing again—actual ballet, that is. I love Seattle. I love this city, even though some not very great things have happened here. And um, well, you seem like you’ve really got a good thing going here, and I—nevermind.” 

“You what?” 

“I just really don’t want to have to leave again.” Her voice cracks painfully and her face contorts as she tries to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, hey, c’mon,” Fitz comforts, scooting over and wrapping his arm around to her back. He lazily strokes his fingers over her back soothingly. “We’ll figure it all out. You just have to keep being honest with me, yeah?” 

She nods into his chest, her tears soaking the front of his jumper. 

“Who was that man?” he asks suddenly as the thought strikes him. “The one from the Champagne Room?” 

“Bakshi,” Jemma whispers, voice tense. “He’s a slimy Hydra bankroller. He tends to wield his influence over Badlands to coerce a lot of the dancers. It’s all about power for him—I’ve flown under his radar for two bloody years and all of a sudden I’ve piqued his interest.” 

"Hunter said you were--you were dry heaving in the alley when he left. He didn't do anything to you, did he?" 

Jemma shakes her head quickly. "No, he didn't do anything out of the ordinary for the setting. He grabbed my hips a bit, that kind of thing. I was just so stressed the entire time that he somehow connected me to Skye--or rather, connected me to Daisy Johnson. By the time he left, I was just really shaken up. You know how my anxiety gets."

He nods. He does know. There had been quite a few times that he'd seen her almost throw up from nerves or an anxiety attack. “What if he knows, Jemma?” 

She shakes her head. “I don’t think he does. He likes to think he’s subtle, but there’s no way he would have been able to resist mentioning Skye to me. He talked a lot about how my compliance would be rewarded, but that’s it. I asked Bobbi about that, and she said he does that a lot. God knows why.” 

Fitz’s stomach rolls over as he imagines some criminal mastermind grabbing at Jemma. He shivers and burrows his face into her hair. “I’m trying to decide if it was better, not knowing. I’m scared for you.” 

“Don’t be,” Jemma tells him, pulling back to look at his face. Her hand falls on his scruffy cheek. “I’m in good hands, I promise. And having you back in my life this last month has made everything so much better for me, truly. I can do this. I know I can.” 

Fitz hesitates. “I’m going to start coming back to Badlands. I want to keep an eye on you.” 

She nearly rolls her eyes, but nods her acquiescence instead. “Okay. That’s okay with me.” 

She snuggles back into his body, tightening her grip around his waist and breathing a relieved sigh. He knows now, and she’s not so cripplingly alone. It’s the first time she’s ever told the story, other than when she’d first spoken with May two years ago. 

A thought blossoms in her mind that she just can’t let go of. 

“Um, what—what ended up happening with Callie?” Jemma mumbles into his chest. 

Fitz lets out a small puff of unexpected laughter. “Honestly? I don’t even know. I just kind of—left. We had a brief conversation and didn’t really settle anything.” 

“Fitz!” she scolds.

“You were upset,” he tells her, as if it’s the simplest answer in the world. “Nobody knew where you went. That was my priority. She’ll understand.” 

“Will she?” Jemma asks softly. There is a beat of silence before she speaks again. “I think I should go back to my apartment.” 

Fitz’s entire body stiffens. “What? Why?” 

“I’ve turned your life upside down enough,” Jemma says. “Besides, I do rather miss my apartment. It’s not much, but it’s mine.” 

His heart clenches painfully at the thought of her leaving. “What about Bakshi? You’re safe here.” 

“I’ll be okay at home. I just—I think, if you’re going to be coming to the club, too, that it would just be better if I at least slept at my apartment.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“You had a life here before me,” Jemma says gently. “And I don’t want you to lose any of that. Please, just don’t fight me on this, okay? If I need to come back, I will. I promise you.” 

He swallows hard but nods. He feels her body relax and her breath begin to become even and slow. He presses his lips into the crown of her hair and breathes in the familiar scent of her vanilla shampoo mixed with the smell of the rain. 

She drifts into sleep, but he doesn’t. He can’t. 

*** 

The day of his reading is upon him faster than he expects it to be. Jemma had successfully negotiated the evening off, promising that she would be there. When he’d tried to convince her to spend the day with him, she’d declined on the grounds that she had plans. Her vagueness had concerned him, but he decides instead to focus at the task at hand. Fitz sits on his couch with his notebooks, flipping through and mumbling to himself as he chooses what poems he wants to read. 

It’s been a while since he’s done a reading—a few months, really. The last one was the night he’d met Callie, which, doing the math, lead him to realize just how long he’d been sleeping with her. It doesn’t feel like Jemma has been back in his life for long, but it startles him to think that it’s been nearly two months since the first night at Badlands. 

Going back to the club to watch out for Jemma during her shifts had been a—unique experience. His biology acted against his will and couldn’t help but be affected by her performances. Even worse was his temper, and the way it reared its ugly head whenever some guy grabbed at her or received a private dance. She hadn’t been assigned to the Champagne Room again, which was the only bright spot of the entire ordeal. 

Glancing at his watch, he realizes that he has to get going if he wants to make it on time. He double-checks his appearance, taking in his dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Jemma picked it out, assuring him that he looked quite sharp in it. He pats his pocket to check for his flask of whiskey, and hopes she was right. 

When he arrives at the venue, a small independent art space, he’s surprised to see how many people are there. He’s even more surprised to see Callie, glass of red wine in hand, sitting in the front row. 

“Callie,” he greets, approaching her. 

“Fitz,” she smiles, standing and giving him a small hug. “I was hoping we could talk after this. I feel really bad about what happened last week, and—“ 

“Yeah, sure,” he tells her, cutting her off. He taps nervously on the notebook in his hand. “But, after, yeah? I’m a bit distracted.” 

She laughs pleasantly and he’s reminded what he liked about her to begin with. With Jemma spending less and less time with him, he’d come to miss Callie a little more. 

He scans the room, searching for Jemma as his eyes land on Hunter, Trip, and Bobbi. Bobbi shoots him a grin and waves him over. He says a quick goodbye to Callie and heads toward them.

“Hey,” he greets. “Where’s Jemma?” 

“She had to do something real fast, but she’ll be here,” Bobbi fills him in. “Said she wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

The venue’s manager taps him on the shoulder and informs him that it’s time for him to get set up. He gives his friends a shaky smile and takes a quick chug from the flask in his pocket as Hunter claps him on the back. 

“You’ll do great, mate.” 

Trip flashes him a beaming smile as well. “You’ve got this.” 

Fitz takes a deep breath, nodding at them and approaching the stage. 

He approaches with shaky legs; even after being a professional writer for years, he’s never quite gotten the hang of reading his work in front of large groups of strangers. Before his first big reading, he’d practiced in front of Jemma for hours in his tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn. 

Just as he finishes setting up the microphone, he sees Jemma slip in the front door. He’s momentarily awestruck by how nice she looks in her blush colored dress. She catches his eye immediately and gives him a close-mouthed smile, wrinkling her nose at him in that expression he loves so much. He gives her a little wink and clears his throat into the microphone. Jemma slips into a seat next to Hunter, and Fitz is irrationally pleased that she didn’t choose to sit beside Trip instead.

“Hey, everyone. I’m Leo Fitz, obviously. I just wanted to say thanks so much to everyone for coming out, and to the staff for reaching out to me and setting this up. I’ll be reading some of the unpublished stuff from my upcoming book so—if it’s terrible, just remember that my editor hasn’t gotten her claws into it yet.” 

He gets a small chuckle at that, and he takes a deep breath as he opens his notebook. 

“This one is actually—very new. I just wrote this one this week.” He pauses, and then begins. 

“This is the story of how she never stopped running.  
This is the story of how when the wolves knocked,  
She met them at the door.  
She became the beast instead. 

This is the story of all the moments  
She didn’t think she would survive,  
And then she did. 

There is a book inside living inside her chest  
With dilated instructions  
On how to make a safe landing.  
It was written for crash landers.

She is coming home to listen.” 

He steps back from the mic as the audience claps mildly, as tends to be the case at this type of event. He risks a glance at his friends and sees that Bobbi is staring at the side of Jemma’s face. Jemma, on the other hand, is staring directly at him, lips parted in an emotion he can’t quite place. Bobbi taps on Hunter and they swiftly change seats. He sees Bobbi whisper something furtively to Jemma, but he can’t place what it might be. Shaking his head as he remembers that he’s on stage, he continues. 

“You taught me what it means to lose:  
Eventually something you love  
Is going to be taken away:  
But sometimes, it’s given back. 

You are a fever, and I am looking at you  
from the wrong end of a long tunnel. 

You see, I take the parts that I remember  
And stitch them together into a person  
Who will stay,  
Into someone who will love me back. 

The way you slam your body into me  
Reminds me that we’re both alive. 

I wanted to hurt you,  
But the victory is that I couldn’t stomach it. 

Sorry about the blood in your mouth,  
I wish it was mine.” 

He locks eyes with Callie and he absolutely recognizes the expression on her face. She knows now, that the line isn’t about her. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he knows exactly who it’s about. She gulps and drains her glass of wine, standing to refill her glass at the bar; he’s shocked she doesn’t just leave. He kind of wishes that she would. 

He doesn’t try to look at Jemma this time. If Callie knows, then maybe she does, too, and that one is a little angry. He’d written it after he’d taken her to the diner, the first night they’d spoken again. Long before he’d understood; or at least, long before he could at least try to understand. 

He clears his throat as the applause subsides and begins again, flipping to the next page. 

“In case you were wondering, these are my secrets:  
I wrote you a four-page letter  
After I traced the high heels to your face on the stage. 

In case you were wondering,  
I’ve missed you so much,  
It feels like the world ended.  
I wonder, if somewhere,  
Even God himself is terrified  
Of what I feel for you.

In case you were wondering,  
I could fall for her but I haven’t;  
Maybe when I say love,  
What I really mean is a place to burn. 

In case you were wondering,  
I’ve never had a very good poker face  
But I’m willing to hedge all my bets on you. 

In case you were wondering,  
I am afraid of the dark  
And I am afraid of you,  
But I turned off the hall light  
When you crawled into my bed.” 

Callie looks as though she would very much like to throw her drink in his face, and he can’t really blame her. She holds her composure together, though, and he slowly looks back toward Jemma. She meets his eyes, and hers are burning. He bites his lip and keeps his gaze on her as often as he can as he reads. 

“I realized today that you are not a good girl,  
You’re a cyclone. And I think I could tell  
From your unbrushed hair and the way you  
Never carry an umbrella. 

You’re trying to be something but  
You’re not sure what it is. You want to prove  
They haven’t bruised you, but everyone  
Can see your black and blue. The bleeding  
Isn’t internal. 

You are as tough as where you come from,  
Broken toes and blisters.  
You’ll let them set themselves on fire,  
But not you. You don’t need to rise from the ashes  
Because you haven’t been reduced to them.

You are willing to do terrible things  
For the people you love;  
You think that this is what it means  
To be family. And it terrifies me,  
The things that I would do for you. 

You’re not a good girl,  
But you are a good person.  
It’s not your fault, but you’re a goddamn  
Force of nature.” 

He reads a few more poems, trying to stray away from the ones about Jemma, but it suddenly feels like every word he’s ever written leads back to her. It’s over before he knows it, and the audience is standing and clapping for him. He raises his flask in thanks, downs a large sip, and jumps off the stage. 

Hunter is the first one to reach him, clapping him on the back with a smirk. “Well, that’s one way to tell someone how you feel.” 

“What?” 

Hunter blinks at him owlishly. “Are you serious right now?” 

Trip comes up on Hunter’s right. “Hey man, listen, I had no idea it was like that between you and Jemma.” 

“I repeat—what?” 

“Hey, Fitz,” Callie says, grabbing his arm to spin him around. He flinches when he sees her face. “You know, you should have told me that line wasn’t about me.” 

“I know, Callie, it was just—“ 

“And this whole time, I’ve been blaming Jemma, cause it was a lot easier than blaming you, but truth of the matter is, it’s not her. It’s you. You would do anything for her but you won’t be honest with her.” 

“I’m always honest with Jemma,” Fitz begins. Callie cuts him off. 

“Well, maybe now you have been. I don’t even think you realizes how head over heels in love with this girl you are. I hope she’s everything you’ve built her up to be, Fitz. It’s a long drop from a pedestal like that.” 

Then she turns and leaves, and Fitz is left staring after her, completely dumbstruck. Trip lets out a low whistle. 

“Damn, Fitz. That was rough.” 

He scratches at the back of his neck and searches for Jemma. He sees her standing near the door, draining a glass of white wine and putting it on the table next to her. She shakes out her hands in a tell-tale Jemma gesture that she’s nervous. Fitz feels butterflies build in his gut as he walks toward her, but when she glances up at him, he finds himself remarkably calm. 

She steps forward and pulls him into a hug. “You were just as incredible as I remember,” she mumbles into his ear. He feels his face heat up as he squeezes her back. 

“Thanks, Jemma.” 

Jemma tucks her hair behind her ear and gives him a tentative smile. “We should—talk. About what you just read.” 

The butterflies immediately re-emerge and his legs go vaguely numb. “There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma.” 

He tries to walk away from her, pretending he sees someone he needs to speak with, but she catches his hand. 

“Maybe there is,” she quietly murmurs, staring up at him with hopeful eyes. His heart skips a beat and he’s not sure what any of it means. “I don’t know if you had plans to celebrate, or if you need to mingle, but I—I was hoping you could come with me. Somewhere.” 

He grimaces. “I actually do have to mingle for a little bit, but if you can stick around, I can—“ 

“You know, it might be better if you just meet me there when you’re done,” she interrupts. “As soon as you can, maybe?” 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yes. I mean, I think. It should be. Absolutely fine, yeah.” 

“Jemma—“ 

“I saw Callie, earlier,” she blurts out. “As she was leaving. And I was wondering if you’re still—“ 

He shakes his head. “Nope, that’s over and done with. Probably has been for a while, if I’m honest.” 

She flushes a little pink and her smile is pleased. He can’t help but grin back at her. 

“Okay. Great. Well, not great. That’s not what I—ugh. Just, meet me at the studio as soon as you can, okay?” 

She steps forward quickly and leaves a lingering kiss on his cheek before bolting out of the door. He stands and watches her go through the window, rubbing a hand on his face. 

Bobbi appears beside him, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “You might want to get mingling, kid. Jemma won’t wait around all night.” 

He rolls his eyes at her but secretly agrees. He accepts a glass of whiskey and makes his way over to some writers he’s met before to do the necessary schmoozing. He’s not sure what will be waiting for him at Jet City Dance, but he’s thrilled to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope nobody is TOO disappointed in Jemma's backstory. It's a little outlandish and crazy, but hopefully it's doesn't require too much suspension of disbelief. 
> 
> Next chapter, we'll see Jemma's real response to Fitz's poems. 
> 
> The first poem of Fitz's is a combination of lines from Ashe Vernon, David Levithan, and Buddy Wakefield.
> 
> The second poem of his is all different pieces of Richard Silken poems.
> 
> The third one is mostly written by me. The God line is from Tina Tran, though. 
> 
> The fourth one is entirely written by me.


	6. keep me young (and call my bluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, being the genius that I am--I wrote this entire chapter and then accidentally DELETED IT. So I rewrote it the best that I could, but I still feel like it's not quite what it was originally. 
> 
> I hope it's still enjoyable :) This story only has a couple more chapters left to go, and should be completely finished in the next few days.

When Fitz arrives at the studio, he sees that it’s unlocked, causing him to huff as he pushes it open and then locks it behind him. The studio is dark, but he can see a light coming through the room that he rented for Jemma. 

“Jemma?” 

“Back here!” she calls. He carefully makes his way down the hallway, running his hand over the wall to make sure he doesn’t collide with anything. As he reaches the room that Jemma’s in, he takes a deep breath to steady himself before he enters. 

He freezes as he takes in everything around him. The wall that is ordinarily made up of mirrors has been swathed with white sheets which glow slightly due to the fairy lights strung up all around the room. What’s really caught his attention is the collection of envelopes dangling from the ceiling, in a variety of sizes and colors. 

“Hi, Fitz,” Jemma says softly, nervously playing with her hands. He looks up, finding her standing in front of him in a black spaghetti strap leotard and a deep red wrap skirt tied around it. 

“Hi,” he breathes. “What—“ 

She cuts him off, nervously rising onto her pointe shoes for a moment before sinking back down. The act is so endearing that he shamelessly grins while she rambles. “I’m not good with words. Not like you are, and I just—I need you to know how important you are to me. How important you’ve always been to me, really, and since I can’t—I can’t really tell you, I was hoping you would let me show you.” 

“Jemma—“ 

“Please,” she practically begs. “Let me show you.” 

He licks his lips and nods, sitting down in the single chair in the room, pressed against the back wall. She shakes her hands out and he can literally feel the fondness in his own gaze as she flits toward the stereo in the corner. 

He feels himself getting choked up as he watches her dance. She’s compiled cuts of different songs, and somehow, someway, she’s telling their story through her movements. He can almost imagine the entire thing happening in front of him; meeting her on the roof of his roommate’s building, walking her home in the morning, letting her drag him to all of the tourist spots in the city, nights curled up on his couch debating art and music and literature…all of it. 

There’s a distinct change in mood and that’s when he feels the ghost of her lips on his and the words “you’re my best friend in the world” whispered into his dark apartment. She obviously doesn’t linger too long on the darkness, though, and he can’t help but lean forward onto his knees with a chuckle when she dances to a portion of the first song he saw her dance to at Badlands. 

The songs after that all sound like falling back together, all the times that their pieces have been stitched whole once more. Then the last segment of her little performance begins, and he feels his breath catch in his chest as the lyrics play over the speakers. 

White sheets, bright lights, crooked teeth, and the night life.  
You told me this is right where it begins.  
But your lips hang heavy underneath me.  
And I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me.

I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go.  
Is there somewhere you can meet me?  
'Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings.  
And you clutched my brain and eased my ailing.

You're writing lines about me; romantic poetry.  
Your girl's got red in her cheeks, 'cause we're something she can't see.  
And I try to refrain but you're stuck in my brain.  
And all I do is cry and complain because second's not the same.

I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight.  
I didn't mean to fall in love tonight.  
You're looking like you fell in love tonight.  
Could we pretend that we're in love?

Her last series of twirls ends with her on the floor, bent backward with her head tilted back. The music fades into silence, and Fitz’s heart beats so erratically that he fears he may be experiencing a cardiac event. He’s unsure about what the entire thing means, and what she’s trying to get at, but then she stands and he finds himself following suit. He’s startled to find tears pooling in her eyes, but she holds a hand up to prevent him from fussing over her. 

“I um, I still don’t think that it was quite good enough,” she murmurs to him. “But this—these, really, are the important thing.” 

Jemma hops up onto her toes again and tugs an envelope from it’s string. He sees his name and his address in New York on the envelope, and his brow furrows as he tries to connect what’s going on. 

“I wrote to you,” she explains, voice cracking slightly as she looks at him desperately. “One a week, since the day that I left. Everything that needed to be said, that maybe still needs to be said, is all in these envelopes. I’ve spent the last two years missing you so much, and I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m not so sure anymore. I think I was afraid, of Hydra and of you and the way that you make me feel. I never thought that I would see you again, and everything just came—came rushing back, sitting in that diner with you and—“ 

Fitz can’t stand it anymore, and he surges forward to frame her face with his hands, brushing the tears from her cheeks. 

“Jemma—“ 

“I love you,” she cuts him off. “I love your eyes and your smile and what a terror you are in the morning. I love the way you take your tea and how much you miss Scotland even though you’ll never, ever admit it. I love that your socks never match and your red beanie and—I just love you. All of you, and I’m sorry that I left, and I know that it’s too much to forgive—“ 

He presses his lips against hers and all the world falls away. His hands slip back into her hair as she sighs into his mouth, clutching at his shirt with tight fists. Before he can become too wrapped up in what is most definitely his new favorite activity, he pulls away. 

“I forgive you.” 

“You can’t, it’s—“ 

“Well that’s too bad,” he teases. “Because I already did, Jemma. I think I’ve loved you since I met you, honestly. Even when I hated you, I loved you.” 

She sniffs and throws her arms around him, nearly knocking him backward with the force. He laughs in relief, squeezing her as tightly as he can without hurting her. 

“Do you want to read them?” Jemma asks, waving her hand at the envelopes dangling above their heads. “Bobbi thought they made a nice decorative touch but I want to give them to you. I’m ready for you to read them.” 

He screws up his face in thought and then gives a little jerk of his head. For a moment she looks wounded, but then he pecks a kiss onto her nose. 

“I will read them,” he assures her. “I want to. I want to fill in the gaps but right now I just want to be with you. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” 

She beams at him, threading her fingers through his hair as she kisses him, gasping lightly as he deepens the kiss. When he smirks at the sound, she rises to the challenge and nips lightly at his bottom lip. The groan that slips from his mouth makes Jemma clutch him closer, and without even meaning to, she begins dragging him onto the floor. They sink slowly, and as he lays her down he protects the back of her head from smacking against the wood. 

Jemma’s fingers deftly undo the buttons of his shirt as he leaves a trail of burning open-mouthed kisses on her neck. She arches into him as his hands slide up and down her sides before he untangles himself from the sleeves of his shirt. Fitz shudders as her small hands make contact with his bare chest and suddenly they’ve lost themselves and there is no longer any barriers between them. 

Fitz wasn’t kidding when he’d told her that he’d been wanting this since he met her, and five years had given him plenty of time to think of what he’d do if he ever had Jemma in this position. He takes his time showing her each and every one of them, and he fleetingly thinks about the entire book he could write just about the noises she makes alone. He decides he’ll need to write a series, because the look on her face deserves its own tome, too. 

When he eventually collapses at her side, she begins giggling. 

“What?” 

“I just really don’t think that the owners expected us to use this room for—well, for that.” 

Fitz laughs loudly, pulling her into his chest and peppering her face in kisses. 

“To be fair, I did not think we would either, love.” 

Her smile is bright, even in the faintly lit room. “We should probably leave soon, hm? I’d hate for some poor children to come upon us in the morning.” 

He kisses her softly and hums his agreement, handing her the clothes he’d peeled off of her as he shrugs into his own shirt. 

“You’ll come stay with me tonight, yeah?” he asks, hating how vulnerable he sounds. She nods vigorously and squeezes his hand. 

“Of course. Help me take all this down, would you?” 

Fitz suddenly realizes that her pointe shoes are still on her feet and falls back onto the floor, overcome with laughter. “Oh my god, Jemma. You didn’t take your toe shoes off.” 

Her jaw drops open and she throws her head back as she giggles. “That seems like it was your job, you know.” 

He shoots her a teasing glare as he settles down and begins picking the envelopes off of the ceiling, tossing them into the shoebox near the chair he’d watched her dance from. They finish fairly quickly, and Jemma shoves the sheets from the mirror and the fairylights into a storage closet before changing out of her pointe shoes and locking up. 

Fitz can see the tulle of her tutu peeking out from beneath her coat, and something about her pleasantly pink cheeks and the sight of her in her element makes his stomach flutter. She tangles her fingers with his as their feet hit the sidewalk out front of the studio and the warmth of her palm in his reminds him that this entire night has been reality. 

*** 

“Do you have to go?” Fitz whines a week later as she extricates herself from his grip to begin getting ready for work. 

Every day since that night in the studio has been the happiest of his life. The day after they’d gotten together, he’d taken her to the aquarium and watched her marvel over the otters. They’d gone out to a nice dinner, walked around museums, ridden on the big Ferris Wheel by the water—he was, as he constantly had to remind himself, legitimately dating Jemma Simmons. Jemma Simmons is his girlfriend, and it’s something he can’t stop repeating in his head like a mantra. 

The girl in question rolls her eyes but a smile plays on her lips. “You know I do. It’s almost over.” 

He sits up on his elbows, watching as she yanks a corset from her bag and begins the arduous process of putting it on. “You’re sure Ward isn’t going to be there?” 

Jemma nods, fussing with the fasteners at her side. “Mhm. He’s out of town. Apparently he’s taking Kara on vacation.” 

“D’you really think he’s just going to leave his office open like that?” 

Jemma shakes her head. “No, but May gave me a very extensive crash course in lock picking. I just need to get in, get everything onto the external harddrive, and then May will mail it to Skye to be decrypted. Then we’re done, and this entire nightmare is over.” 

He frowns at her. “It just doesn’t seem right, to send you in. Why can’t you sneak May or one of her agent friends in?” 

“There’s too many moving parts,” she attempts to explain. “I promise you, May would never put me in a position where I’m in danger.” 

He looks unconvinced, but she ignores it as she begins putting on her makeup in the small mirror hanging on his door. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that look on you.” 

“You know, I’ve never really gotten used to it either,” she tells him as she applies mascara. “It’s a bit like putting on a whole new identity, really.” 

“Would you please let Hunter go with you to Ward’s office?” 

She spins around and glares at him. “Fitz, you know that I’m not involving anyone else. It’s bad enough that you know everything you do.” 

Fitz huffs and reaches a hand out to her, tugging on her once she takes it. She kneels on the bed beside him and lets him press a sweet kiss to her cheek. 

“I’m just worried about you,” he tells her gruffly. “I want you to keep being honest with me, and I don’t mean to push you. It’s just—you’re my Jemma.” 

This makes her smile and she kisses him languidly. He begins to pull her back on top of him and she giggles into his mouth before tugging herself away. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snorts. “I recall you being the one who started it this morning.” 

She grins at him with twinkling eyes and he feels his heart gives an extra beat at the sight. 

“I love you,” he tells her simply. She looks at him through the mirror and winks. 

“Love you, too.” 

“I was asked to do a reading in Portland this weekend,” he informs her. “I got a bit—distracted, earlier, and forgot to tell you.” 

“That’s great, Leo! I wish I could join you, but there’s no way that I can leave that close to getting the files. I have to be a model employee until Ward is in prison.” 

He swallows and nods. As much as he’d hoped she would come with him, he’d known it was a long shot. “Yeah, I figured. Thought I would try, though.” 

“Soon, I’ll be able to go to all of your readings. Promise,” she says softly, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you later.” 

As she does up her coat and throws her giant heels into her purse, she blows him a kiss. He catches it and she flushes happily before she’s gone, leaving Fitz alone with his anxious thoughts. Lance appears in his door suddenly, unbothered by Fitz’s state of undress. 

“You two seem to still be enjoying the honeymoon,” Lance smirks. Fitz tosses a pillow at him but doesn’t deny it. 

“As if you and Bobbi are much better,” Fitz grumbles good-naturedly. 

Lance’s grin falls off of his face, and Fitz is a little thrown by the sudden change in his mood. “My shift’s not on until nine tonight. Want to go grab a couple of beers? I find that I like to be distracted while my girlfriend is stripping.” 

Fitz huffs but can’t help but agree. He can’t tell Lance that he’s significantly more concerned about his girlfriend breaking into a criminal’s office, so he decides to just go along with his assumption of jealousy instead. 

“Sure. Let me throw some clothes on and we can head out.” 

Hunter leaves to let him get dressed, and within twenty minutes they’re seated at a booth in their favorite bar, sipping on beers and eating French fries. 

“Trip working tonight?” 

Hunter grunts out an affirmative and shovels some more fries in his mouth. He chases it with half a beer and Fitz wrinkles his nose at the sight. “I think Bobbi is cheating on me.” 

This catches Fitz’s attention, and he nearly spits out the alcohol in his mouth. “What?” 

Hunter downs the rest of his glass and pours another from the pitcher. “She keeps getting calls from blocked numbers and disappearing. And she’s stopped staying over.” 

Fitz furrows his brow in thought. “I hadn’t noticed but yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her around the apartment.” 

“Exactly. Over a week now.” 

“Maybe she’s got something going on?” Fitz suggests. 

Hunter shrugs. “I wanna believe that but I tried to talk to her about it and she just kind of snapped at me about not trusting her, which of course turned into a row and we never actually got anywhere.” 

“I feel like Jemma would know, and that she woulda said something.” 

“Maybe not, though. Girl code and all that,” Hunter mumbles. He looks absolutely morose and Fitz begins to feel a little guilty for flaunting his bright and shiny new relationship in front of his roommate, whose own relationship is obviously falling apart. 

Fitz hesitates. “That’s—heavy, mate.” 

Hunter snorts into his glass and nods. “This was supposed to be fun, you know? Not some kind of epic FitzSimmons style love story.” 

“Hey!” 

“It’s a compliment, dumbass. I’m just saying that Bob and I were just gonna be causal, y’know? But then she turned out to be funny and smart and kind of mean and I really dig all that, and now I actually—I dunno, if she’s cheating on me, I’ll be so fucking pissed but it also just—hurts.” 

Fitz nods in understanding, knowing that if he suspected the same from Jemma he’d be absolutely devastated and they’ve only been together for a week now. 

“I think this calls for some shots,” Fitz finally says. Hunter grins at him. 

“Now we’re talking. Not like I don’t have the kind of job I can do drunk.” 

After a few more drinks, Hunter is in better spirits and Fitz’s thoguhts wander back to his girlfriend and her mission for the night. He contemplates going to Badlands with Hunter when the other man has to start his shift, but decides against it. He knows he’ll just stress her out more, and Hunter wasn’t kidding when he said that there was something distinctly unsettling about watching Jemma grind on other men. He says his goodbyes to Hunter and goes back home to crack open a few of Jemma’s letters, which he’s been reading in small piles. 

He’s still in her first year at Badlands, and while some of the letters make him want to punch holes in the wall and others make him cry, more often than not, they make him smile. For the first several months, Jemma’s letters were just ramblings of their best moments together, and all the things she wished they could be doing together if she hadn’t left. While they border on bittersweet, her writing is still optimistic and, in all honesty, extremely validating. 

In their entire three years of close friendship, and then last few months of growing back together, he’d never once suspected her feelings for him, but ever since her confession he’s started to put the dots together. Her tense questions about Callie, her abandoning the couch in favor of sleeping in his bed, all the little touches and glances and loaded words. 

He pulls out the shoebox from his closet and settles down on his couch with a few beers in front of him. He grabs the next letter and breaks the seal, letting Jemma’s familiar, neat writing wash over him. 

Dear Leo,  
Your book came out. I bought five copies at the store down the street. It took me a few hours to even start reading it after I read the dedication. I can’t believe that you still care. But that’s how you’ve always been, hasn’t it? 

You’re entirely too gracious, even to people who don’t deserve it. I’m probably the best example of that. I tore out the dedication page, not because I wanted to destroy it or anything. I taped it up in my locker at work, to remind me that there’s someone out there who knows who I really am. Someone out there wants me to come home. 

Maybe one day I’ll get to explain all of this to you. Maybe you’ll even believe me, and forgive me. Maybe we can work on things, get to know each other again. Maybe you could fall in love with me when this is all over, and we could move in together wherever we want. Maybe we could get a cat. I know you’re more of a dog person, but I really think you could like a cat, Leo. 

I can teach ballet classes and maybe find a way to perform again, and you can have a nice little study to write in. We can finally take that trip back home that we’ve wanted to take. Wouldn’t that be lovely, Leo? 

I miss you. I want to come home. Your book is amazing, and every word that’s written about me just reminds me of what I’ve given up. I hope one day you’ll understand. Skye needed me more than I needed to be with you. One day this will be over and maybe we’ll both be happy. 

“For Jemma—if you read this, please come home.” So simple, and yet I want to tattoo it on my bones and remember it forever. 

Love,  
Jemma 

He coughs to clear his throat of the lump in it, distinctly recalling the moment that he wrote that dedication for her. He’d hoped she would still read his book, wherever she was, but he’d never dreamed that she really would. To think that it was still taped to her locker at Badlands. 

He grabs his laptop off of the coffee table as he sips at his beer, doing a quick google search for cat rescues. He’ll have to talk to Hunter and Trip, or maybe he and Jemma could spend more time at her apartment. All he knows is that he wants to give her all of it.


	7. i've built these walls around you (to keep you safe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is nearly coming to an end! Probably just one or two more chapters!

“You’ll stay here while I’m gone, yeah?” Fitz asks for the tenth time as he folds up a pair of jeans and shoves them in a duffle bag. 

Jemma rolls her eyes, sprawled out across his bed with her hand propping her head up. “Yes, Fitz, I’ll be sleeping here.” 

“You’ve got the key?” 

The look she gives him is all the answer he needs. 

“I’ll be just fine, Leo,” she assures him. “Hunter and I are gonna go out after work tonight, and then—“ 

“Well that certainly doesn’t make me feel better,” he teases. “That man’s a right menace.” 

“While that may be true, and actually is true, he also needs someone to keep him company while he mopes about Bobbi.” 

“Just make sure the two of you don’t get into too much trouble.” 

“Trip is coming too,” Jemma offers. “You know he keeps everyone’s heads on straight.” 

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better,” Fitz grumbles. As soon as Trip had realized that Jemma and Fitz were together, he’d backed off on the flirting, but Fitz still sees the soft smiles that the other man sends his girlfriend’s way. 

“Oh stop it, you,” Jemma says. She rises to her knees and tugs him toward her, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose with her own. “If I wanted to be with Trip, I would be with Trip.” 

“I know,” he sighs, melting into the content feeling that washes over him whenever Jemma touches him. “It’s just—y’know?” 

Jemma giggles lightly. “You recall my jealousy over Callie, don’t you?” 

“Well I didn’t see it that way as it was happening, but yeah,” he grins. She scoffs lightly and presses a kiss to his mouth, erasing his smile. 

“You don’t have to look so pleased about it!” 

“If you told anyone that you’d ever be jealous of some girl that was with me, I don’t think anyone would believe you, Jemma. I just want to bask in the beautiful improbability of my reality.” 

“Alright, Neruda,” Jemma huffs, still smiling as a blush colors her cheeks. “You’re going to miss your train if you don’t hurry up.” 

“It’s really driving you insane that I didn’t pack till now, isn’t it?” 

“Yes!” Jemma practically explodes. “I’d have packed three days ago!” 

“Yes, well, not all of us can be as overly prepared as you.” 

“I excel at preparation,” she informs him with a little flip of her hair that he finds impossibly endearing. 

He zips up his bag and flops down on the bed beside her, reveling in her warmth as she curls up against his side. “I don’t want to leave you.” 

“I’ll be fine, Leo!” she whines. “Honestly, you’d think I was made of glass—“ 

“I’ll just miss you, is all,” he interrupts. He can feel himself pouting and he would hate himself for that if he didn’t also feel Jemma’s own grumpy face against his chest. 

“I wish I could come with you. But you’ll be back before you know it. And then we get to have a—reunion.” 

She rolls on top of him with a wicked grin, and all melancholy is chased from his mind as her warm body presses against his and her tongue darts past his lips. 

When she pulls away from his wandering hands a few minutes later, breathless and flushed, he groans and bats at her. 

“C’mon, Fitz,” she sighs. “Time to go, or you’ll seriously miss your train. This reading tonight is important.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He rolls off of the bed after her and pulls on his boots and coat. She hands him his duffel bag and kisses him softly. 

“See you soon,” she whispers. 

He nods and swallows hard, feeling a little ridiculous that he’s so upset at being away from her for just a few days. He survived two years in her absence; given, she’d never slept in his bed every night and kissed him and been his before, so this absence is a little different. 

A few more rushed kisses and then he’s sliding into the back of a cab. 

“Be careful, Jemma,” he mumbles toward the back window, as the shape of her becomes smaller and smaller in the distance. 

*** 

He’s pleased to see some of the usual circle of young poets at his reading, and ends up going out for a few beers afterward with Mike, Hannah, Sif, and Donnie. He can’t help himself from checking his phone every half-hour or so once midnight rolls around. Jemma might not even be off work yet, but he’d hate to miss a text or call. 

“Looking for a text from your muse?” Hannah teases, leaning over to look at his screen. 

Fitz’s face heats up and he lifts his beer glass to touch against his cheek. “Or something.” 

“C’mon,” Donnie says, snatching his phone before he can react. “We haven’t all been in the same place in what, like, a year? Call her when you get back to your hotel, man.” 

He wants to argue with him and get his phone back, but he also figures that Donnie will be sloshed enough soon that it’ll be easy enough to retrieve it by the time Jemma is on her way out with Trip and Hunter. 

“Speaking of muses,” Fitz moves on, “that poem about the man trapped between two worlds—that was bloody brilliant, Hannah. Where the hell did you get that idea?” 

“You know how I was working in quality assurance for a while?” Hannah asks, popping some fries in her mouth and chewing as they all nod. “Well this guy, Charles, he kept telling me that he was caught between heaven and hell and I was his angel. Guy was a total nutcase, but he gave me some great ideas.” 

Fitz’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn. I’ve gotta ask Jemma to start saying some weirder shit to me.” 

“That love bite on your neck tells me that that’s probably unnecessary,” Sif points out with a smirk. Fitz slaps his hand over the bruise peaking out from the collar of his shirt and groans. 

“Alright, let’s leave poor Fitz alone,” Hannah laughs as the server drops off another tray of shots. “Besides, this is Fitz we’re talking about. I give it two months.” 

Anger flares up in his chest. “Hey!” 

“She’s got a point,” Donnie slurs, handing out the glasses of whiskey. “You’ve never been with anyone longer than a couple months since college.” 

“Yeah, well, none of those other girls were Jemma.” 

“Hey, man, I’m happy for you,” Mike says, raising his shot glass. “To happy endings.” 

Fitz gives him a grateful smile and clinks his own against it, shooting it back with a small cough. 

“Snapchat!” Donnie proclaims, picking up a phone and waving vaguely at everyone to get together. “Gotta show everyone I have some friends.” 

Mike rolls his eyes and tugs Sif toward himself, wrapping an arm around her smoothly while Hannah drags Fitz’s chair closer to her own. Just as the flash goes off, he feels her lips press to his cheek—and then she’s shoving his chair back where it was. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “I know that Jemma meant a lot to you, back in the New York days. I just—really hope you don’t get hurt again.” 

“It’s different,” he assures her. “She’s different. We both are.” 

“Well, I’m glad!” Hannah chirps. “Hopefully next time we’re all together, we can meet her.” 

He nods, accepting her apology and letting the familiar group dynamic take hold once again. They laugh, they argue, they bicker over lines and phrases, they gossip about other writers that they all know—and then suddenly it’s closing time, and Fitz remembers at the last minute to snatch his phone out of Donnie’s jacket as they all go their separate ways. 

“Fitz!” Hannah calls as he waves goodbye. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come to my place?” 

“Yeah,” he calls back, waving his phone toward her with a wink. “I’ve got a call to make.” 

She beams at him, and he hears her shriek as Donnie lifts her off of the ground. He smiles to himself as he scrolls through the texts he missed. 

[Hunter]: As requested, here’s your text to know that I have Jem and we’re headed to the bar. 

[Jemma]: Hope your reading was fantastic! I’m off to the bar with Hunter and Trip. I’m pretty tired so I won’t stay long. Call me when you get back to your room? 

[Trip]: Hey man, hope Portland is treatin you good. We just put Jemma in a cab home, she was pretty beat and Hunter needs a stiff drink…or two…or five. 

[Trip]: Have you heard from Jemma? I asked her to call me when she got back but she never did. Don’t wanna worry you, just wondering. She probably forgot and called you right away instead. 

He feels his heart leap into his throat. The only text he’d received from her was around 12:30, and she’d apparently gotten into a cab at 1:15. It’s now nearly 3:00, and his fingers are shaking as he dials Jemma’s number. 

The line rings and rings and he receives no answer. He wants to believe that she’s just sleeping, but as he arrives back at his hotel, he can’t help but fear the worst. He tries Hunter next, but he goes straight to voicemail. He curses under his breath and tries Trip as he gets into the elevator, and his other roommate answers on the third ring. 

“Hey, man.” 

“Trip! Jemma’s alright, yeah?” 

“We’re just getting back now,” Trip informs him. “We ran into Bobbi with that bouncer from Badlands. It…didn’t go great.” 

“Alright, well, stay on the line with me? I just wanna make sure she’s okay.” 

Trip curses under his breath and Fitz hears him haul Hunter into the elevator in their building. 

“Yeah, no problem Fitz. I woulda insisted that she stay, but she was practically falling asleep at the table.” 

“I just woulda rather you gone with her,” Fitz says, unable to keep the coolness out of his tone. 

“She’s a grown-up,” Trip defends. “I put her in a cab and gave them our address.” 

“Sorry, sorry, I know,” Fitz sighs. None of his friends know what Jemma’s deal is and he can’t exactly spill her secrets. He hears Hunter babbling as Trip opens the door to their apartment and he can practically see Hunter stumbling through the front hall. 

“Door to your room is closed,” Trip narrates. “Want me to check it?” 

“Yeah, please.” 

He waits with baited breath as the other man knocks gently on the door. “Hey, Jem? You in there?” 

Fitz sits down heavily on his hotel bed, knee bouncing anxiously as he waits for a response. 

“Jemma? You decent?” 

Fitz nearly laughs at that, but his chest feels too tight. 

“Alright, girl, I’m comin’ in.” 

The door creaks open and he hears Trip exhale a heavy breath. 

The door creaks open and he hears Trip exhale a heavy breath. 

“Fitz?” 

“Yeah?” 

“She’s not here.”

His heart absolutely stops beating. He’s pretty sure it should be impossible to still be alive, with the clenching in his chest and how long it’s been since it last pumped blood through his system. 

“What the hell d’you mean?” 

“She’s not here!” Trip practically shouts into the phone. For some reason, this fills Fitz with rage. 

“I asked you two to look out for her!” he yells. 

“I did what I could do, Fitz! I’m not her boyfriend, alright?”

The words stop Fitz cold and he remembers that Trip is not her boyfriend, and he is, and he should have been there to look out for her. He knew she was going to be attempting something risky this weekend but what did he do? Go off and do a poetry reading and get drunk with some friends and an ex and leave her to it all by herself, with nobody knowing what the hell she was even doing. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m gonna—I’m gonna try to find a way back, okay? Just…if she comes back, please call me.” 

“Of course, man. Don’t worry, we’ll find her. I’m sure she’s okay.” 

Fitz can’t explain to him the hundred reasons why he doesn’t feel like she’s okay, but there’s nothing he can really do about that now. Instead, he hangs up and dials the only person he knows who has a car. If she leaves for Portland right now, they might be able to make it back to Seattle by 8 a.m. That’s sooner than the soonest train would depart, so he gives it a try. 

“Fitz?” she asks, wide awake. 

“Bobbi, hey. Listen, I’m stuck in Portland but nobody can find Jemma and I—“ 

“Text me the address of where you are,” she cuts him off. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Sit tight.” 

He’s pretty sure he’s going to spend the next several hours pacing this hotel room and trying not to cry, but her assurance is somewhat comforting anyway. 

“Thanks.” 

“I mean it, Fitz, stay where you are.” 

Her seriousness is strange, but she’s hung up before he gets a chance to ask her about it. 

*** 

When Bobbi pulls up in her SUV, the sun is barely rising. 

“You may have set a record,” Fitz comments as he piles in to her front seat. 

“Not a lot of cars in the middle of the night,” Bobbi replies. “Breakfast is right there.” 

He nods in gratitude and pulls out the fast-food breakfast sandwich from its bag. He’s sure he won’t really be able to eat it, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“No word from Trip?” she asks. He shakes his head. Despite calling the other man every twenty minutes or so, he hadn’t heard anything since their initial phone call. 

“Whatever happened, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Bobbi says, but the words feel empty and they both know it. Instead of trying to fill the space, she turns up the radio. 

His fingers itch for something to do but he can’t bring himself to write a single word. Instead, they fly through the slowly brightening landscape with the low hum of the radio as their only companion. 

He’s half-asleep when they reach Seattle, and Bobbi hasn’t even put the car in park before he’s jumped out, leaving his bag in her backseat. He doesn’t even bother with the elevator and instead flies up the staircase, slamming through the front door and rushing into his bedroom, as if he expects her to have suddenly appeared. 

He feels Bobbi come in behind him and squeeze his shoulder supportively. 

“Why don’t we go check her apartment? I looked before I left, but it’s worth a shot.” 

Fitz nods and leaves without waking either of his roommates, clambering back into Bobbi’s car as she speeds off toward her and Jemma’s building. The streets are still fairly empty, it being so early on a Saturday morning, and he’s grateful for Bobbi’s blatant disregard for posted speed limits. 

When they get to their building, Fitz restrains himself from barreling into it the way he had barreled into his own. He was going to feel rather silly if Jemma was just asleep in her bed, and also rather pissed off. When they get to Jemma’s door, Bobbi halts him with one hand. 

“Wait,” she hisses. She glares down at the lock on the door and looks at him with a furrowed brow. “I locked it back up when I left to come get you. This has been jimmied open.” 

He feels nauseous and hot and cold all at the same time, but then Bobbi is unholstering a gun from somewhere and kicking in the door. 

“What the hell?!” he yelps. She shushes him harshly and swings into the apartment, only to be met with another gun. 

“Where the hell is Jemma?” the small, dark-haired woman barks. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bobbi says evenly. Fitz simply stares between them, heart thrumming wildly. 

“If you’re from Hydra, please tell Grant that Daisy Johnson says hello,” the other girl bites out with a sarcastic smile. 

“Skye!” Fitz blurts out. She looks at him with wide eyes. 

“Who?” 

“You’re Skye. She’s Skye. Bobbi, this is—this is Jemma’s sister. Foster sister. Skye.” 

Bobbi slowly lowers her weapon and Skye follows suit. 

“Bobbi,” the blonde introduces. “Can I ask why you broke into Jemma’s apartment? Nobody can find her.” 

Skye swallows hard. “She was doing me a favor last night. Then nobody heard from her.” 

“Mockingbird,” Bobbi blurts out. Skye cocks her head to the side and then recognition melts across her face. 

“Oh, no way!” 

Fitz just splutters in confusion off to the side, and Bobbi finally gives him some information. 

“Fitz, I’m not really a dancer. Well, I am, technically, but I’m with the Organized Crime unit. I’m a detective. I was assigned to protect Jemma at the club. Mack, the bouncer, is with us, too.” 

Suddenly all the pieces start to make sense. 

“You’re not cheating on Hunter.” 

“Is that what he thinks?” she exclaims. “God, he’s never trusted me, it’s so—“ 

She stops herself, obviously remembering that she has a gun in her hand and has just revealed that she isn’t who Fitz and his roommates think she is. 

“Back to Jemma,” Skye says. “She was breaking into Ward’s office to back up his computer information onto a drive.” 

“She got out of the club okay,” Fitz tells her. “She went to the bar with my roommates, and then after Trip put her in a cab, nobody heard from her.” 

Skye nods, walking over to the laptop on the counter and typing quickly. “I tracked her cell when I didn’t hear from her at our scheduled call time. Jemma is never late, for anything.” 

Fitz nods in agreement and walks to her side, staring down at the complex GPS system on her screen. “Damn.” 

“I’m good,” Skye shrugs. “The GPS stopped moving right around here. May said she was going to check it out, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with her or Coulson at all.” 

“Coulson?” 

“Captain of Organized Crime,” Bobbi supplies. “He also owns Phil’s Diner.” 

“I love that place,” Fitz says, rather uselessly. He hasn’t slept in what feels like forever and his girl is still missing and it’s all making his head spin. “We’ve got to find her.” 

A beeping noise shatters the quiet and Skye whips out her phone. “Encrypted message,” she mumbles, half to herself and half to the others in the room. 

“Then un-ecrypt it!” 

“Yes—what’s your name again?” 

“Fitz.” 

“You’re the boy!” she squeaks excitedly. “Oh my God, I’m so excited to meet you! Jemma has told me so much!” 

He clears his throat and nods toward her phone, and she quickly shakes herself. “Right. Not the time. Gotcha.” 

Skye plugs the phone into her laptop as Bobbi anxiously bites at her thumb and Fitz bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“It’s coordinates,” Skye informs them as she rapidly types them in to her GPS. She breathes out shakily as she zooms in. “It’s a bridge. Near the Sound.” 

She does some more typing. 

“It’s—it’s really high up.” 

Bobbi curses and pulls out her own device, barking orders into the phone and reading the coordinates off of the screen. 

“Plain clothes only. I need a dive team stationed below. Just in case.” 

Bobbi tries her best to keep Skye and Fitz from piling into her car, she really does, but they’re too damn stubborn and she can’t exactly eject them from the seats. 

“Promise me you’ll stay in here,” she insists. “It’s bulletproof. Stay down and out of sight, alright? I’m not playing around.” 

They both swear up and down that they’ll do as they’re told. Bobbi heaves a long-suffering sigh and flips a hidden switch, activating some red and blue lights. She slams down on the gas pedal and races toward the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone likes what I did with Bobbi. I wanted to maintain that Bobbi/Hunter dynamic of her always having a game to play. 
> 
> Next chapter, we'll see what happened to Jemma and some (hopefully) interesting parallels to the show. 
> 
> (Don't worry too much, folks. Our girl can handle herself).


	8. i'd walk through hell for you (let it burn right through my shoes)

When Bobbi reaches the bridge, it’s blocked off by construction signs and a few trucks. 

“Are you sure you had the right coordinates?” Fitz asks Skye. She glares at him. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

Bobbi narrows her eyes as her SUV idles, and then makes a decision. “Stay down.” 

She slams her foot down on the pedal, causing the car to shoot forward through the wooden barricade. Immediately, the “construction workers” begin firing bullets at the SUV. 

“What the hell?!” Fitz shouts. “What is going on?!” 

“Hydra,” Bobbi answers simply. She rolls down her own window and begins firing a gun out of the car. Skye pops up from her ducked position and begins to cock her own gun until Bobbi shouts at her. “I said to stay down, damn it!” 

Fitz feels his entire body shaking as Bobbi stops the car abruptly in the middle of the bridge. He hears the roar of a motorcycle, some more gunshots, and then a female voice speaking to Bobbi through the window. 

“What are they doing here?” the woman says, poorly restraining her obvious anger. 

“Hi May,” Skye says sheepishly. “She didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” 

This doesn’t seem to convince May, though. She growls for the two of them to stay put as Bobbi exits the car with her gun at the ready. 

“Is it really just the two of them?” Fitz asks worriedly. 

Skye doesn’t seem as concerned. “I’m sure there’s more. Plus, May could probably take them all out without Bobbi’s help at all. I’ve seen her do some pretty crazy shit.” 

Despite Skye’s confidence in May’s abilities, Fitz’s heart still beats at a nearly inhuman speed in his chest. He gulps down a panicked breath and musters all of his courage to look out of the window of the SUV. 

“I don’t see anyone,” he tells Skye. He feels her come up behind him and peek out to the bridge. 

“Not on my side either,” she informs him. “Maybe you were right. Maybe this is a trap.” 

They sit quietly after that, wedged on the floor between the backseat and the front seat of the car to hide themselves from plain sight. 

“So how long have you and Jemma been together?” Skye asks suddenly. He raises his eyebrows. 

“This? Now?” 

“It’s a good a time as any,” Skye shrugs. 

“We’ve only been together for a few weeks now,” Fitz tells her after a beat. He consciously stops himself from fidgeting, not wanting to shake the car and alert any Hydra members that might be around that there are people in the car. 

“Hm,” she hums quietly. “I thought it’d been longer. She made it sound that way, the few times we’ve gotten to talk.” 

He chuckles a little bit, and it’s a slightly strangled sound. “Well, we’d basically been dating, I guess. She practically lived at my place and we spent most of our time together.” 

“Do you love her?” Skye asks candidly. He meets her eyes and sees that they are steely with determination. 

“Yeah,” he answers simply. 

“Good,” Skye nods, softening a little bit. “She loves you too. And she deserves to be with someone who loves her back.” 

“She loves you, too, y’know,” he feels the need to tell her. Skye smiles gently and plays with her hands. 

Her voice is tinged with bitterness when she responds. “She shouldn’t.” 

“I asked her why. Why the hell she would do all of this, give up everything she cares about at the drop of a hat.” 

Skye tenses across from him, but he presses on. 

“She said you were the first person to see her. To care about her for who she was and not what she could do. Jemma didn’t have to be some child prodigy around you, and she’s never forgiven herself for you going back into the system.” 

Skye clears her throat, glassy eyes looking at him intensely. 

“Jemma and I saved each other, back then,” she says. “And god knows she’s saved me, in all of this Hydra bullshit. Now it’s my turn.” 

“Bobbi told us to stay in the car,” Fitz argues. 

Skye peeks out again, just as several cars pull up in front of where Bobbi and May duck behind a large construction sign. 

“I started all of this. I should be the one to finish it.” 

She goes to open the door and Fitz grabs her arm and yanks her back as hard as he can in the cramped space. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he huffs. “After everything Jemma’s done for you, you’re just gonna run out there and get yourself killed? They tried to kill you once, Skye. They won’t hesitate to do it again. And then what happens to Jemma, hm?” 

She blinks against the heat in his voice and the intensity of his words before letting out a shaking breath and wrenching her arm from his grasp. 

“Fine,” she practically growls. 

Fitz shushes her and struggles to listen to what’s happening outside on the bridge. He can hear Bobbi’s raised, angry voice and May’s lower, equally furious one. He risks a glimpse out of the window and feels his stomach drop out. 

“Jemma,” he whispers. Skye snaps up and scrambles to his side of the car, hungrily trying to catch a look at her friend. 

“Oh my God,” Skye gasps. Jemma stands between Ward and another man, well-dressed in an expensive suit. 

“Is that Bakshi?” he asks. Skye’s eyes snap to him and she nods. 

“Yeah. How do you know him?” 

“She mentioned him.” 

They don’t bother to sink back down in to their hiding spots, both too enraptured with the action unfolding on the bridge. Jemma’s hands are tied in front of her with what looks like a thick zip-tie. Bobbi speaks directly to her, face morphing from pure hatred to calming concern. Ward grabs at Jemma’s harm roughly and Bobbi and May each raise their guns toward his face with lightning fast reflexes. 

“I told you they’re good,” Skye mumbles. 

“It’s over, Ward,” May says. “Let the girl go.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he smirks. “See, Miss Simmons here has something that I need.” 

“And what’s that, exactly?” Bobbi scoffs. “Some sanity? A reality check? A really, really good self-help book?” 

The smirk slips from his face, and then he nods to someone near the SUV. 

“You don’t think..?” Fitz begins, but he’s cut off as the door on the other side of the car is pulled open and large hands grab Skye and drag her out. “NO!” 

Skye screams, kicking and scratching and even biting the large bald man who restrains her. Fitz, for his part, immediately opens his car door and jumps out of it in an ill-conceived attempt to help her. 

“No!” Bobbi shouts as soon as she spots him. Jemma’s panicked eyes travel back and forth between Skye and Fitz, her mouth dropping open. 

“Ward, no,” Jemma begs as one of his minions grabs Fitz, locking his forearm around the smaller man’s neck and holding a knife to his throat. “Ward, please. Please.” 

“Daisy,” Ward says, ignoring Jemma’s whimpers as his eyes roam Skye. “Good to see you again, baby.” 

Skye’s face contorts in disgust. “I’m not your baby, you psychopath.” 

The man looks hurt, and for a brief moment, Fitz wonders if it’s real. 

“Daisy, please, I never meant for you to get hurt. That was never part of the plan.” 

He walks over to her, placing his hands on either side of her face. She struggles against the man holding her, attempting to get away from Ward’s touch. 

“You have to believe me,” Ward says lowly. “Everything that I felt for you—that was real, Daisy.” 

“I’m gonna throw up,” she gasps out, tears in her eyes. Then she jerks wildly, headbutting him hard and flailing her elbows and feet as much as she can in an effort to escape. It doesn’t work, but Fitz can’t help but admire her for trying. After all, he’s standing with a knife to his throat and hasn’t even dared to move a muscle. His eyes immediately go back to Jemma. The cold wind whips at her hair, pieces of it sticking to her cheeks, which are wet with tears. 

“You must be Leo Fitz,” Ward coos at Fitz once he recovers from Skye’s blow. “I know so very much about you.” 

Fitz gives him the best glare he can, hoping that the fear in his eyes is overpowered by the unadulterated hatred that he feels for the man in front of him. He hasn’t hated many people in his life, perhaps never even once. But this is the man responsible for everything that Jemma has been through in the last few years. He’s the one who took her away from him. 

For the first time in his life, Leo Fitz wants somebody dead. 

Bobbi’s gun swings from Bakshi toward Ward. 

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Bobbi growls. Ward just laughs, a cold and strange sound, and grabs the knife from Fitz’s captor. He also breathes a sigh of relief until the knife is replaced with a handgun, and the gun is placed at his temple. He winces as the barrel digs into his head, but forces himself to open his eyes. 

“Now Jemma,” Ward grins, turning back to her. “I’m gonna need you to do me a little favor, sweetheart.” 

Fear washes over Fitz in a whole new way. “Jemma, no!” 

The gun digs deeper onto his temple and he feels like he might vomit. 

Ward leans toward Jemma and whispers something in her ear. She whimpers loudly, tears running unchecked down her flushed face. 

“Please,” Jemma sobs brokenly. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just please don’t.” 

Fitz can hardly register what’s happening as Bakshi roughly grabs Jemma’s hair with one hand and presses a gun against her back with the other before marching her toward the edge of the bridge. 

“Stop right now,” May orders. 

“Don’t kid yourself, May,” Bakshi says patronizingly. “We’ve got not one, not two, but three civilian hostages right now. We both know the protocol here.” 

The stricken look on Bobbi’s face tells Fitz what he needs to know. Bobbi and May can’t help her as she shakily steps up onto the railing of the bridge, hauled up by Wards arms. 

She turns back to look at Skye, and he hears Skye let out a strangled gasp and then a piercing scream. Jemma’s eyes fall on him next and he finally understands. 

“Jemma!” he shouts. She gives him a broken, horrifically sad smile. “No! Jemma! Jemma, NO!” 

Then Ward steps back, nods at her, and lets her go. 

“JEMMA!” 

The scream rips from his throat and he can’t even hear the sound as the man holding him throws him onto the ground. He picks himself up and runs toward the edge of the bridge. 

“JEMMA!” 

May moves quickly, grabbing him and yanking him backward as he tries to climb onto the railing himself. She throws him back onto the ground and then there is more gunfire. Bobbi is suddenly in front of him, holding him down with one hand and shooting with another as May rushes for Skye, tackling her underneath the SUV. There are officers everywhere, and Fitz dimly recognizes Phil, the friendly diner owner. 

None of it registers in his mind. All he can see is Jemma’s face, hair flying around her just before she fell. 

“I need to get Jemma,” Fitz gasps, attempting to wrestle himself out of Bobbi’s grasp. “I need to get Jemma.” 

“There’s a dive team,” Bobbi grunts. “They’re down there. Someone’s got her already. Someone has her.” 

“You don’t know that!” he explodes, shoving her backward. 

She sighs heavily, looks torn for a moment, and then makes up her mind. 

“Sorry, Fitz,” she tells him. He opens his mouth to shout at her again, but then she knocks him out with one well-placed punch. 

*** 

He wakes up to a loud beeping noise and immediately shoots forward. 

“JEMMA!” 

“Hey, man, woah,” a familiar deep voice says, pressing him gently back down onto the bed. “She’s alive.” 

He blinks up into the light and finds Trip standing above him, dressed in his blue scrubs and looking about as shaken up as Fitz feels. 

“She is,” Skye’s voice chimes in. She approaches his other side and squeezes his hand. “Give him the run down,” she says to Trip. He nods at her and continues speaking. 

“Jemma suffered some hypothermia and oxygen deprivation, but the officers on sight gave her CPR right away so she wasn’t without oxygen for long. She also had some superficial wounds that required stitches, and three of her ribs were broken. She’s sedated right now and resting, but she’ll be okay.” 

He hears his heart monitor slow down. “Why am I—“ 

“Bobbi knocked you unconscious during the fight,” Skye informs him, lips quirking up slightly. Trip bites his lip to smother his own grin. “You wouldn’t stop trying to get to Jemma and the last thing we needed was someone else in the water.” 

He glares at her amusement. “Please tell me they’re all in custody.” 

Bobbi enters the room, arms crossed over her chest. “That, or they’re dead.” 

She says it simply, the same way he’s heard her order her drinks at the bar. Hunter stands next to her, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans as he puts inches of space between them that Fitz has never seen before. 

“I just saw her, mate,” Hunter tells him. “She’s alright. Looks a bit like a Disney princess, all passed out like that.” 

Bobbi smiles at him, but the smile quickly melts off of her face as he pointedly avoids looking at her. Fitz decides to ignore this obvious drama and tries to lift himself out of bed again. 

“Thanks for this, Bobbi,” he grumbles at her. Trip gives up on trying to keep his roommate in bed and helps him up. 

“I’ll take you to see her,” Skye says. “You might wanna put your clothes back on, though.” 

He glances down and feels his face grow hot as he realizes he’s wearing a hospital gown. 

“Who took my clothes off?!” 

Trip winks at him with a wide grin and Fitz groans, shooing everyone out so that he can put his (honestly filthy) clothes back on. 

“Crazy 24 hours, huh?” Trip says conversationally as he leads him down the hallway of the ER. 

“You could say that.” 

“You might also wanna delete your Snapchat story before your girl wakes up,” Trip advises. 

“Huh?” Fitz asks, patting his pocket to get his phone. He pulls it out and deftly opens the app. A picture of he and his friends from the night before flashes onto his screen. He grimaces a little bit as he notes Hannah’s lips pressed to his cheek. He sighs, clicking once more to see who watched it—of course, Jemma Simmons is the first name listed. 

“Maybe her near death experience will keep her from dumping your ass,” Trip says optimistically. 

“Funny,” Fitz replies dryly. Trip stops in front of a door and nods toward it. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Maybe Skye will finally let me take a look at her damn wrist, now that she knows Jemma’s okay.”   
He claps Fitz on the shoulder and then sets back off in the direction of their friends. 

Fitz takes a steadying breath and enters Jemma’s hospital room. Her hair is still damp against her pillow, her skin pale. There are small cuts on her knuckles and some bruising on her hands. He feels a twinge of pride as he realizes that they must have come from fighting back. 

He sinks down into the chair beside her and gently presses his lips to her knuckles. 

Jemma’s breath hitches up into a gasp a few minutes later and her eyes fight to blink open, looking panicked. 

“Hey there, shh, shh,” he soothes, standing so that she can see his face without craning her neck. “You’re alright, love. Everything’s fine. It’s over.” 

Her face crumples into relieved tears. “It’s over.” 

He nods, choking down some tears himself as he smothers her face in light kisses. “Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again, Jemma Simmons.” 

She sighs through her sniffles and nods. 

“You’re bruised!” she gasps when he pulls away from her. She desperately grabs for his collar to tug him down for an inspection and he gently bats her hands away. 

“Bobbi knocked me out.” 

Her jaw drops and then she giggles loudly. He wants to protest, but for a minute there he’d though he’d never hear it again, and he figures he can let her tease him for the rest of his life now. 

“My hero,” Jemma murmurs, tugging him into a soft kiss. 

He settles in to his seat, brushing his fingers up and down the inside of her arm as her eyes shut in exhaustion once more. 

“What happened to you, Jem?” 

“I got caught,” she mumbles. “Luckily I’d already dropped the flashdrive with May on my way to the bar with the guys. But they’d picked me up on the security cameras at the club, so they intercepted me in the cab.” 

Fitz clenches his jaw. “I shoulda been here.” 

She sighs. “Fitz, you couldn’t have put your whole life on hold to follow me around. Besides, it just would have made things worse, if you’d been there with me. You saw what I was willing to do to keep you safe.” 

“We’re gonna have a serious talk about that, by the way.” 

She rolls her eyes. “May’s already forcing me to see a therapist.” 

“Good.” 

They fall back into silence and he leans his forehead onto the edge of her bed, shutting his eyes against his own concussed drowsiness. 

“What now?” she whispers suddenly. 

“What d’you mean?” 

“What do I do now?” 

Fitz pauses, licking his lips before he speaks. “Well, you’ll probably sleep here overnight. Then I’ll take you home and we’ll rest for a while and I’ll drive you crazy because I won’t let you lift anything or dance for a month or so.” 

She huffs out a laugh and then winces, one hand coming up near her ribs. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“We’ll figure it out,” he assures her. 

“Together?” 

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, it's almost over! There's just gonna be one more chapter now :) 
> 
> Hope you've all enjoyed this hot mess of an AU as much as I've enjoyed writing it.


	9. we'll be looking for sunlight (till our wide eyes burn bright)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the fluffiest. It's just fluffy nonsense, and that's basically what this fic will be from here on out, because I just want all my babies to be happy. There's only going to be a couple more chapters, which will kind of show how Jemma and Skye (and the rest of the gang) move on with their lives after all of this.

[Two Weeks Later]

Fitz comes into awareness to slim arms wrapped around his back. He grins, eyes still shut as he burrows deeper into the warmth of his bed and wraps his hand around Jemma’s. He pulls it up to his lips, kissing it softly, allowing himself to meld into the peace of the moment. His eyes slowly open, and he expects to be staring at his wall—instead, he’s staring at Jemma. 

His brow immediately furrows as he glances down at the arms wrapped around him. And then he shrieks. 

Jemma and Skye both shoot up in bed, desperately grabbing at him and each other. Jemma groans, throwing her hand over her eyes. 

“Fitz! Why?” she whines. 

Skye grumbles, collapsing back down onto the bed. “Too early.” 

“Skye! You were—you were spooning me!” 

Skye winces a little bit, apologetic eyes floating to Jemma. “I had a bad dream, and being on the couch made me feel too—out in the open, and I really thought you slept on the outside of the bed.”

Fitz scrubs his hands over his face. “Should I be offended that you mistook my body for a woman’s?” 

Skye laughs lightly. “Sorry. I know, it’s weird for me to get in bed with you guys. It won’t happen again, I just—“ 

“Nonsense,” he cuts her off. We’ll just have Jemma stay in the middle, hm?” 

He’s awarded with a luminous smile from his girlfriend, who gingerly leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips. Skye doesn’t even tease them for it, just smiles as Fitz very gently swings Jemma over his lap and switches spots with her. 

“Much better,” he sighs, leaning against Jemma’s pillow. 

“I just want it on the record that I make an excellent big spoon,” Skye teases, voice soft as her eyes shut again. 

She’s back asleep in moments, hand gripping at Jemma’s arm. Jemma smiles softly at her best friend/foster sister, and then turns back to her boyfriend. 

“The two people I love most,” she breathes. “I couldn’t be happier.” 

“D’you think she’s alright?” he asks worriedly. 

Jemma nods. “She’s working through everything that happened while she was on the run. She’s the strongest person I know, she’ll be okay.” 

Fitz pecks her on the cheek. “How did you sleep?” 

She shrugs, eyes drifting toward the window, causing him to frown as she settles further down into the bed. He slides down to face her, running his short nails over the inside of her forearm. 

“Do you need a pain pill?” he murmurs worriedly. “Is there anything I can get you?” 

“No,” she whispers. Her eyelids flutter shut and the tension drains from her face. “Just a bit of a bad dream, love.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

She chews on her lip for a moment, and just before he tells her not to worry about it, she begins to speak. “When the cab driver turned around to look at me, I instantly recognized him from the club. And then he locked the doors and started driving so, so fast, and I just knew—I knew there was no way I was going to get out. And my first thought was that I was so glad you were away, because you wouldn’t get hurt.” 

Her voice gets choked and he has to swallow hard to clear his own throat of the painful lump that grows there. 

“They just wanted to know who I was working for, but because I wouldn’t tell them, they couldn’t kill me. They had to know. So it was a baseball bat, that broke my ribs.” 

He grits his teeth to prevent himself from grasping at her arm and hurting her or scaring her. She hasn’t told him this part, and he watches her other hand grasp at Skye’s. Having both of them surrounding her like bookends gives her the courage to continue. 

“Then Ward got there, and he had more information on me. He found promotional photos from the ballet and, worse than that, he had pictures of me and Skye, as children. If it wasn’t for him, things may have actually been worse. His twisted obsession with her probably saved my life.” 

“Is seeing Dr. Garner helping?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. 

“It really is,” she sighs, leaning into his touch. “Now I’m just trying to figure out where to go from here.” 

“Once you’re healed,” Fitz feels the need to interject. Her eyes don’t open, but he knows if they did, they would be rolling in exasperation. 

“Yes, once I’m healed. I would love to dance again but I don’t know if I can just jump back in like that. It took years to get to where I was, and now it’s been two years since I left ABT.” 

“If anyone can do it, you can,” he assures her. “Maybe you could talk to Marta about teaching for now. That way you can make some money and also practice. I’ll help you look in to ballet companies.” 

“What if I can’t get into any here?” 

Fitz shrugs easily. “Then we go wherever wants you. Which I’m sure will be everywhere.” 

Her eyes fly open at that. “You’d come with me?” 

“Anywhere,” he murmurs, kissing her softly. “Get some more sleep. I’ll be right here. And apparently so will Skye.” 

She giggles, kissing him one more time before settling into the pillow with a little sigh. He watches her drift off and peeks over her at the brunette on her other side. They both appear to be sleeping peacefully, so he lets himself fall back into dreams, too. 

*** 

They wake up again to Hunter and Trip’s amused laughter. 

“Truly, Fitz, never thought you had it in you,” Hunter cackles. 

“I know I wouldn’t,” Trip shrugs with a wink at the women. 

Skye shoots him a little smirk. “Oh, I’m sure you’d do just fine.” 

“Skye!” Jemma gasps, blushing. 

Skye just shrugs and slides out from beneath the sheets. “You boys up for some breakfast?” 

“Let’s go to Phil’s!” Jemma cheers before pausing. “Wait, is it still open?” 

Skye nods. “Yep, he actually does own it. He got too attached to it undercover. He probably won’t be there, obviously, since he’s back to his regular job.” 

Skye, Hunter, and Trip chatter on their way out to the living room and Skye disappears into the bathroom to dress quickly while Jemma and Fitz do the same. Jemma hisses as she tugs her shirt off, and Fitz helps her slide into a new one. 

“I can’t wait to be able to move again,” she whines as he laces her boots on her feet. 

“I know. Not too much longer, I’m sure.” 

They walk very slowly to Phil’s, both because of Jemma’s injuries and because they have no reason to rush. It’s a Sunday morning, and Trip has the day off. Hunter is currently unemployed, what with the closure of Badlands, and so is Jemma. 

They pile into a booth together and Skye and Trip gang up on the three Brits at the table for ordering tea instead of coffee. Skye dazzles them with a few intense tales of her years running from Hydra, including one particularly interesting one that involves stealing a moped. 

Jemma and Skye share a few stories from their shared teenaged years under the same roof, and the thought of these two young girls finding themselves with each other warms him to the point that lines begin swimming in his head. He scrawls a couple of words down on a napkin so that he’ll remember them, and then turns his attention back to Skye, who is vehemently denying ever having twisted her ankle trying to wear Jemma’s pointe shoes. 

“I told you that they required years of training, but no—“ 

“I wasn’t trying to be a ballerina! Ballet is—is so boring. And weird.” 

Jemma fondly rolls her eyes and absently spins a small spoon in her mug of tea. “Yes well I did manage to fry a computer attempting to learn code, didn’t I?” 

Skye grins slowly. “Oh man, I forgot about that. Your parents were so pissed. That thing was brand new.” 

“Skye tried to take the fall for me,” Jemma explains to the men at the table. “Only I wouldn’t let her, so we were just talking over each other, basically begging to get punished by my mum and dad so that the other one wouldn’t.” 

“I thought that’s when they’d send me back, for sure,” Skye jumps in. “But they didn’t do that till about six months later.” 

An awkward silence falls over them and Skye attempts to break it with a bad pun on breakfast food. Hunter’s phone begins to vibrate on the table, and Skye glances at it from her position between him and Trip. 

“Bobbi again?” 

Hunter snatches it away, sending it to voicemail and putting it in his jacket. 

“Yep,” he replies tersely. 

Trip leans forward on the table to get a good look at his roommate. “You should at least talk to her.” 

“She lied to me,” Hunter says simply, shrugging as though he hasn’t spent the last two weeks drinking about it. “I don’t know anything about the woman.” 

“Just because she had to lie to you doesn’t mean that what she felt wasn’t real,” Skye says. “I don’t really know you, and I don’t know her at all, but I’ve spent the last five years doing undercover journalism or pretending to be someone else, hiding out from a psychopath. And I can tell you that a lot of the friendships and bonds and all of that, those were so real to me. Even if Daisy Johnson or Jenna Simon or Samantha Wilson weren’t real at all.” 

Hunter seems to consider this for a moment before suddenly banging his forehead onto the table. He heaves a sigh and stands. 

“Fine. Fitz, order my usual. I’ll be back.” 

He digs his phone out of his pocket as he heads for the door, and the entire table is silent as they watch him pacing out front of the window before finally putting it up to his ear. 

Fitz can tell the exact moment that he hears Bobbi’s voice, because Hunter’s entire face crumples and his fingers go to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He looks very, very tired, but everyone involved seems to know that this is something that has to get done. He comes back fairly quickly and slides in to the booth and huffing at the four pairs of inquisitive eyes that blink at him. 

“We’re meeting up this afternoon to talk things over in person, in her real apartment instead of the one she’d been living in, keeping an eye on Jemma.” 

“Don’t have sex with her,” Jemma says sternly. Everyone turns to look at her with surprised expressions. 

“Why would you even say that, princess?” Hunter drawls. 

“Because, I spent two years stripping with Bobbi and she’s my friend, so I happen to know that the two of you don’t do conflict resolution without getting naked, and that won’t solve anything. You have to actually talk to each other.” 

“Not all of us can be like the Wondertwins.” 

Fitz and Jemma wrinkle their noses in unison. “I’d really rather you not call us that,” Jemma says primly. 

“The implication that we’re siblings is disgusting,” Fitz chimes in. 

Trip laughs, beckoning to their waiter from across the diner. “Given what I overheard the two of you doing last night, you’re not wrong.” 

Skye pulls a face. “Oh god, was I sleeping in your sex mess?” 

“I hate this conversation,” Fitz says plainly. “Really, I really do.” 

Jemma smacks her palms on the table, shaking it lightly. “New topic!” 

Jemma and Fitz are saved from their burning cheeks and teasing friends by their waiter, who jots down their orders and throws a little flirty wink at Skye. Jemma watches with interest as Trip abruptly looks down at the table. She makes an internal note to discuss this development with Fitz later, when they get a moment alone. He gets nearly as excited about gossip as she does, and in New York, they’d set up four different couples—three of which had gotten engaged or married since. The fourth couple broke up, but Jemma figures that you can’t win them all, no matter how excellent a team she and Fitz make. 

Her thoughts temporarily stray to dangerous territory about what that could mean, but she shakes herself of it. Fitz has been unwavering in his loyalty and affection for her, and he had always been. He’d dedicated his book to her, written countless poems about her, had been her best friend for years and then forgave her for the years when she couldn’t be his. Whatever the challenges of her new, post-Badlands life, she and Fitz would face them, together.

The thought blooms in her chest and she can’t resist the urge to tug his face to hers to place a long kiss on his lips. He jumps in surprise but quickly melts into it, grinning into her mouth until she pulls away from him. 

“Can’t say I know what that was for,” Fitz laughs. She smiles back at him. 

“Just thinking about what a good team we are.” 

Hunter gags loudly, Skye hits him in the nose with a sugar packet, and Trip gets the sudden and unfortunate idea to teach Skye how to play a table game with the remaining sugar and miniature creamers. Fitz is suddenly very glad that Phil no longer frequents the diner as Skye makes a massive mess all over the corner booth by the window where they all sit. 

When their food arrives, they tuck in, intermittently bantering and teasing and eventually, brainstorming jobs for Hunter. 

“I could see if the hospital is looking for security,” Trip suggests. “I mean, it would mostly be tracking down patients that have made a break for it, but hey, it’s something.” 

“Didn’t you say you’re a photographer?” Skye asks, dousing her hashbrowns in ketchup. 

“How did I not know that?” Jemma asks. “And Skye’s known you for like ten minutes and she knows!” 

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Always so dramatic, Simmons. I briefly majored in photography in university and then dropped out and just sort of—dabble in it, on the side.” 

“So start photographing weddings and babies and shit,” Skye shrugs. Trip deftly angles his plate away from her as she goes to stab at the food on his plate with her fork. 

Hunter shakes his head. “I’m more interested in motion photography. Hey, Jemma, when you’re back on your feet it’d be cool to get some of you dancing.” 

She beams at him excitedly. “Oh, I can’t wait to dance again. This whole broken ribs thing has been a real damper on getting my groove back.” 

“Your groove?” Trip teases. “Where’d your groove go, Kuzco?” 

Jemma and Fitz tilt their heads, rather resembling confused puppies, as Skye laughs loudly and even Hunter gives a dry chuckle. 

“What’s a Kuzco?” Jemma asks. 

“It’s a cartoon. The Emperor’s New Groove? C’mon, girl!” 

Fitz and Jemma look at each other and shrug. “Never seen it,” Fitz says. Trip and Skye exchange a smirk. 

“Movie night!” Skye announces. “Okay, idea. What if we go back, create like, a massive pillow fort, and just watch movies all day. And all night. We can make popcorn, drink alcohol—it’ll be so fun!” 

“Like being drunk children,” Trip agrees. “I’m in.” 

Jemma smiles, pleased to see her friend in such high spirits after a night of bad dreams. “That sounds lovely.” 

Fitz nods in agreement because, well, Jemma wants to do it and he’s always been loathe to refuse her anything, which has only become worse in the weeks since she was taken by Hydra. Hunter stares at their hopeful faces and groans. 

“Okay,” he reluctantly groans. “Fine. I’m going to see Bobbi—I mean, the bloody she-witch, then I’ll come back home to join your weird little boozy kids party.” 

“Oh shush, you’re gonna love it,” Skye elbows him.

They wish him luck outside the diner as he heads out to Bobbi’s apartment, and the four of them walk home, listening to Skye and Jemma’s excited chatter about what movies to download after the Emperor’s New Groove. 

“How about Wallace and Gromit?” Jemma suggests. 

“Interesting choice, England,” Skye shoots back. “But maybe not so much. Oh my God, what about Center Stage?” 

“The boys won’t want to watch that,” Jemma brushes the suggestion off.

“Oh come on, that’s your movie!” Skye protests. “We’ve gotta leave the option open at least.” 

Jemma laughs, linking her arm with Skye’s. “Alright, fine. We’ll put it up to a vote once we tell them what it is.” 

“I’ve seen it a million bloody times!” Fitz yelps from behind her. “Or do you not remember forcing me to watch it every other week for years?” 

“Isn’t Jemma such a Jody?” 

Fitz considers this seriously for a moment. “Mm, I’ve got to disagree. I think she’s much more like the girl from Save the Last Dance.” 

“I can see her pulling a Step Up,” Trip supplies. 

Jemma grins. “I certainly wouldn’t mind a dance with Channing Tatum.” 

“Hey!” 

“She made out with you at the breakfast table, you’re fine,” Skye giggles, shoving him lightly. They stop at the corner store on the way home and buy some cheap champagne and orange juice, along with some wine and beer for later in the afternoon. 

He gives Jemma a piggy back ride up the stairs in their building when she gives him puppy eyes and the slightest suggestion that walking might possibly be hurting her. Skye gives him shit for it and Trip laughs at both of them when Fitz nearly topples back down the stairs at the top. They all stumble into the apartment and Skye immediately ransacks every bedroom for pillows, blankets, and sheets. 

“Fitz’s fairy lights!” Jemma exclaims, scrambling off of her boyfriend’s back to rush to yank them off of his wall. “Ooh, this will be so fun!” 

Trip and Fitz just exchange a look and decide to take it upon themselves to gather the snacks and the alcohol as the girls continue to chatter excitedly about what to download and how to create a structurally sound pillow for with their supplies. 

The process takes longer than Fitz would have suspected, partially because Skye demands on documenting many of the steps. 

“Hey, after two years of anonymity I can finally have an Instagram. I’ve gotta make money somehow, so social media fame is pretty much my best option,” she smiles cheekily as she snaps some candids of Trip tangled up in the lights. 

He just chuckles fondly and lets her take a few more before wrapping her in them too and calling for Jemma to take some pictures of both of them. 

“If this girl is gonna be Insta famous, my mug is gonna be all up on there,” Trip laughs. Skye glances up at him with sparkling eyes and Jemma’s earlier excitement at the possibility of two of her favorite people being something more reignites. 

“Fitz,” she mumbles, rearranging a few pillows gingerly, nursing her bad side. He looks at her in concern but she brushes him off. “Skye and Trip. I think that’s our next mission.” 

He breathes out a laugh and gently sits her down on the barstool behind her. “Sit. Rest. You look like you’re in pain. And Jemma, we haven’t taken on a mission since we set up Sharon and Sam, and those two wound up breaking up and she got with Steve.” 

“But consider this: I’m right,” Jemma beams. He rolls his eyes but smiles back and drops a kiss to her forehead. 

“I will consider it,” he relents. “Alright, genius. Tell me where to put the couch cushions for optimum fort strength.” 

She directs from her spot on the barstool, and Skye pours them each a mimosa as they periodically critique the work of Fitz and Trip. 

“This was your idea!” Fitz pants as he and Trip upend the sofa at their orders, only to be told it’s not quite right.

“I have broken ribs,” Jemma pouts. He narrows his eyes at her. 

“Fine. You’re excused. Skye, on the other hand—not so much.” 

“I’m her designated emotional companion, Fitz. Get with it.” 

Trip barks out a laugh. “Yeah, Fitz, get with it.” 

The fort collapses twice before Fitz and Trip manage to get it to stay up, and by the time that happens, Skye and Jemma are both bordering on tipsy and have changed into comfy clothes courtesy of Fitz’s closet. Trip grabs two of the largest glasses they have in the kitchen and makes him and Fitz what might be the world’s biggest mimosas. 

“Hey! We want refills!” Skye calls out. He grabs the supplies, throws them bucket of ice, and settles in to the fort. Jemma and Fitz curl up in one corner, leaning in a pile of pillows with a soft blanket wrapped around them. 

Fitz glances down at Jemma in the dim lighting of the Christmas lights, and she meets his eyes as Trip presses play on the movie. He presses his lips to hers softly and nuzzles his nose against hers. She tastes like champagne and orange juice, and her mussed hair and glittering eyes cause a wave of contentment to crash over him. Trip and Skye bop to the theme song of the movie and he can’t help but grin into Jemma’s hair. It’s hard to keep his attention on the cartoon when he’s so blissfully, explosively happy. 

For so long, his work has been about pain, but suddenly he wants to write about these full-heart moments. These bright-eyed afternoons in rooms built of sheets and fairy lights, with pretty eyed girls and the kind of genuine men he’d never thought he’d have as friends, growing up as a sensitive kid with a funny accent, scrawling poems on the soles of his Chuck Taylors. 

Jemma snuggles in a little bit tigher, squeezing herself against Fitz and linking her ankle with Skye’s. Her two favorite anchors to reality chase away everything that’s happened in these past few, terrifying weeks of flux and inconsistently. The only thing that’s missing are Hunter and Bobbi. She’d been shocked to find that Bobbi was an undercover officer, even more so than she had been to know that Phil Coulson and Mack were as well. Since the big reveal, she’d seen Bobbi a few times and her blonde friend had been visibly upset. There was a time that she’d thought Bobbi Morse was unshakeable, but she’d come to learn that nothing and nobody is unshakeable. Bobbi’s eyes had been lined with red, her blonde locks pulled up in a messy bun. Her voice had vaguely cracked when she spoke of Hunter, and her phone background was still a selfie they’d taken on the Great Wheel by the water. 

Her thoughts bounce from her own domestic bliss to the possibility of Trip and Skye to her deep-rooted hopes that somehow, someway, Bobbi and Hunter could make things work. In between all of that she giggles at the movie, enjoys her mimosa fueled buzz, and inhales the familiar and comforting scent of her boyfriend surrounding her on all sides. 

Trip and Fitz commandeer the television for the next movie after Emperor’s New Groove is over, and the two of them disagree with one another more than either of them disagreed with Jemma and Skye. 

“John Tucker Must Die is a classic, Fitz!” 

“No way! Gremlins, now that is a classic.” 

“Good god, man. Gremlins? Seriously?” 

Eventually, they settle on The Breakfast Club to the whole group’s mutual assent. Jemma practically vibrates with excitement when, halfway through, she notices that Skye leans, sleepy, half-drunk, and happy, into Trip’s side, his arm slung casually on the pile of pillows behind her serving as their seats. 

“I’m a little worried,” Fitz says, breaking the silence. 

“About what?” Jemma asks, voice tinged with concern as she cranes her neck to look at his face. 

“Hunter. Do you think they’ve killed each other? It’s been nearly four hours—“ 

Just then, the door bursts open and giggles and smacking kisses fill the hallway. 

“Oi, you lot!” Hunter triumphantly shouts. Trip pauses the movie and makes a half-assed attempt at crawling out of the pillow fort, but is pushed back immediately by Hunter and Bobbi, breathless and flushed as they both fall to their knees in front of their friends. 

“Hey, you two,” Jemma chirps, extracting herself from Fitz to lean forward. 

“We have news!” Hunter practically explodes. 

Bobbi’s smile is practically manic as she shoves her hand out, revealing—a diamond ring? 

“We’re getting married!” she exclaims. 

Jemma’s eyes fly open wide, and she’s sure that Fitz and Trip’s do the same. Skye, on the other hand, hardly reacts, given that she hardly knows either of them. 

“I was carrying the ring around,” Hunter explains, “long before I found out about the undercover thing—but I thought she was cheating on me so I never did anything about it—“ 

“So earlier we sat down and talked things through and we just decided that the feelings were real and it’d be stupid to throw it away because I was doing my job.” 

“And we went for it,” Hunter beams. He kisses her quickly and then pulls away to look for his friend’s reactions. 

“Good thing we already bought champagne!” Skye crows. 

“Congratulations!” Jemma squeals when she’s finally recovered. She moves forward to hug them both, wincing as she twists awkwardly to do so. 

Fitz moves to clap Hunter on the back at the same time that Trip does, and the entire fort collapses once more, causing the entire group to lay tangled beneath it for a long moment of silence. 

“So, champagne, yeah?” Hunter finally asks. 

“Cheers to that,” Fitz agrees, kicking wildly. 

Hunter and Bobbi’s unexpected interruption only changes their day for a few hours. Before long, the couple leaves to celebrate in Bobbi’s apartment on their own, and Trip and Skye painstakingly reconstruct the fort. 

Jemma half-falls asleep sometime during a James Bond movie, and when she wakes up, Fitz is passed out next to her. Skye is curled around Trip and she can’t help but giggle when she sees that Trip and Fitz are nearly holding hands. 

She considers waking Fitz to go back to their room, but she doesn’t want to wake Skye and trip because Skye looks so peaceful in her sleep for the first time in ages, and even though her ribs hurt, she’s comfortable in their pillow nest. She shuts her eyes again, and let’s the world disappear in a haze of Christmas lights.


	10. because you're mine (i walk the line)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff!! 
> 
> The remaining chapters (there's only two left!) are basically just focused on Jemma readjusting to this sort of life and trying to get back to where she wants to be, and how that affects her relationship with Fitz. I want to have them face some of those challenges together, now that they're a well-established relationship. 
> 
> Hope that's not too boring :)

As soon as Jemma gets cleared by her doctor, she strikes up a deal with the owner of Jet City Dance. She’ll teach the beginner and intermediate ballet class, as well as a preschool level class. 

“So you’re going to be teaching little monsters for free?” Lance asks from across the table as she excitedly explains the situation. 

“Technically, yes, but I’ll have unlimited afterhours studio access. I’m working on setting up an audition with the Pacific Northwest Ballet, and I’m nowhere near up to snuff, I’m afraid.” 

Fitz squeezes her shoulder encouragingly. “You’ll get there in no time.” 

She smiles back at him and plucks a french fry off of Hunter’s plate in retaliation for his lack of enthusiasm. “So, how goes the wedding planning?” 

“Awful,” Hunter moans, just as Bobbi perks up. 

“Fantastic!” 

They share a dark look with one another before turning back to their friends. 

“Hunter just isn’t particularly detail-oriented,” Bobbi explains. 

“I’m plenty detail-oriented! I just don’t see the point in having twelve different options for bloody napkins!” 

Jemma laughs. “He’s got a point on that one.” 

“How do you think Trip and Skye’s date is going?” Bobbi asks, attempting to change the subject. 

Fitz shrugs. “He seemed pretty nervous about it. He went down to Pike’s and bought her flowers and everything.” 

Both women coo and carry on about the romance of it all. 

“’S not that hard,” Fitz grumbles. “Just some flowers.” 

Jemma makes some small quip about how if it’s so easy, why doesn’t he ever bring her any flowers? and he quickly quashes down the panic. She’s not leaving, she doesn’t want to be with Trip, and she’s right here beside him, all set to stay. 

“I actually had something I want to give you,” Bobbi blurts out suddenly. She reaches into her bag and hands Jemma a small box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a teal ribbon. Jemma raises her eyebrows but slowly undoes the gift anyway, opening the box inside and grinning.

A beautiful silver necklace hangs on a card inside. Jemma lets out a loud laugh when she looks at the pendant. It’s two small, delicate handcuffs, interlocked with the chain. 

“All the other ones were hearts and butterflies and well, that just didn’t really feel like us,” Bobbi explains. 

The card reads, “Will you be my Maid of Honor?” and Jemma practically leaps across the table to hug Bobbi awkwardly. 

“Of course I will!” she exclaims. “I’m so touched that you would ask me.” 

“Yeah, well,” Bobbi grins, a little flushed with embarrassment. “Can you imagine if I asked May?” 

This sets Jemma off on another round of giggles, and Hunter offers to buy them each another drink. 

“Hey! What about me?” 

“Oh, right,” Hunter grins. “S’pose we oughta have something to celebrate too, then, yeah? Wanna be my best man?” 

“That’s how you’re gonna ask?” Bobbi scoffs, crossing her arms. “Come on!” 

“Not very romantic,” Fitz agrees, but stands and slaps Hunter on the back anyway. “Of course, mate. I’d be honored.” 

Hunter pulls him in for a quick hug. “Alright, another round!” 

Fitz joins him as they head to the bar. They give the bartender their order and Hunter turns to him suddenly with a serious expression on his face. 

“So, um, I’m moving in with Bob.” 

Fitz blinks. “Oh, wow! Congrats.” 

“Yeah, thanks. We figured her place is big enough for the both of us, and we ought to get used to cohabitating if we’re going to be getting married.” 

Fitz nods, mentally running through options of people they know who might be willing to move in to the empty bedroom. 

“Skye’s been crashing on the couch for weeks,” Hunter suggests. “I know her and Jemma were looking to get a place, but maybe she should just move in.” 

“But then what about Jemma?” Fitz asks dumbly. Hunter laughs loudly, smacking him on the arm until he realizes that Fitz is genuinely confused. 

“You’ve got to be joking. She’s practically been living with us since you two started dating. Even before that. Might as well make it official and save on the rent.” 

“Oh. Ooooh.” 

“Now you’ve got it.” 

The bartender puts their drinks down and he makes his way to the table, balancing his beer with Jemma’s gin and tonic. He drops it in front of her and hums slightly when she places a sweet kiss on his lips. 

Maybe Hunter’s idea isn’t a bad one. 

He’d have to run it all by Trip, of course, and Fitz isn’t sure how he’ll feel about living with a girl he’s just taken out on a first date or about living with a couple, but Trip has already been doing both of those things and he can’t imagine it would change much. 

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts on the matter that he doesn’t realize it’s been nearly fifteen minutes since he’s last spoken. Jemma nudges him worriedly. 

“Leo? You okay?” 

“Yeah!” he says, way too loudly given their close proximity. She jumps slightly and glances at him in confusion. 

“Are you sure? You’re behaving strangely.” 

“No, no, I’m good. I’m cool. No doubt,” he stuttered, quickly chugging at his beer. Her eyebrows raise to extraordinary new heights. 

“Did you seriously just say ‘no doubt’?” she asks slowly. He nods, mouth still attached to his bottle, and she shakes herself. “Okay, then.” 

Hunter is poorly hiding a smirk behind his hand and Bobbi is looking at him like he’s crazy. He’s saved by the sudden appearance of Trip and Skye, who arrive with hands linked and smiles on their faces. 

“Skye! Let’s get you a drink,” Jemma announces with a complete lack of subtly as soon as the pair stops at the table. Skye laughs with a little roll of her eyes and squeezes Trip’s arm before she’s dragged off. Bobbi hops up as well. 

“I’m gonna go…be over there with them.” 

Trip’s eyes follow Skye to the bar, a wistful smile on his face. Hunter teases him for it and Fitz quickly falls back into his previous train of thought. 

“Hey Trip?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What if Jemma and Skye moved in with us?” 

Trip gives him a puzzled look. “Don’t they—already live with us?” 

“Well, only technically,” Fitz shrugs. “Hunter’s moving in with Bobbi, so Skye could take his room and maybe I could get my bed back, and Jemma could live with me, in my room—“ 

“Oh, well, Jemma was planning on staying in my room,” Trip jokes. “We were gonna get bunkbeds. Lots of room for activities.” 

Fitz punches him on the arm and rolls his eyes. “Very funny. So you’re okay with offering that?” 

“It would be better than having Skye on the couch,” Trip shrugs. “It might be kinda weird, since we just started seeing each other, but I did ask her out while she’s been crashing in our living room. Can’t really complain.” 

Fitz chuckles and then a sudden feeling of panic overwhelms him. What if Jemma doesn’t actually want to move in with him? She’d started looking for a place with Skye, and maybe that’s what she wanted. 

He didn’t want to push her too fast and have her run off again, even though deep down he understood that these circumstances were very different. The worst that could happen would be her saying no. 

Unfortunately, it occurred to him that it was a very, very bad worst case. The girls return from the bar, sliding into their respective seats. 

“So what are we doing tonight?” Skye chirps. “Movies? Bar hopping? Orgy?” 

“That escalated fast,” Fitz snorts, tipping his bottle in her direction. She just grins cheekily in return and leans against Trip. Her cheeks flush as he presses a kiss to her cheek and Jemma’s leg starts bouncing in excitement under the table. He has to press his hand down on her knee to get her to stop. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, but her pleased little smile stays on her face and he melts just looking at it. “I’m just excited.” 

“Hey, do you wanna go for a quick walk? I wanna talk to you about something,” Fitz blurts out. He feels his face blanche at the thought of her potential rejection, and the smile slips off of her face. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“What? Yeah. Totally.” 

Jemma lets everyone know they’ll be right back, puts on her coat, and follows him out of the bar to the street. He begins walking directionlessly and altogether too quickly. Jemma struggles to keep up with his quick strides. 

“Fitz? Are you sure you’re okay?” 

He stops abruptly, causing her to bump into him as he turns toward her. “Yeah, I just. I need to talk to you about something, and I’m…nervous about it.” 

For some reason, Jemma looks stricken and he can’t understand why, so he readies himself to plow forward and just ask her to move in officially, for real this time. “I—I just, um, I think that we should—“ 

“Fitz?!” an excited voice calls out. He turns around and sees Hannah bounding toward him. “No way!” 

“Hannah,” he replies, stunned. She throws herself at him in a hug and he pulls his arms around her blindly. Jemma steps aside, still looking stricken and overwhelmed. 

“I was gonna call you when my friend invited me up here to go to her show,” Hannah laughs. “And then here you are!” 

“What a crazy coincidence.” 

They chat for nearly an entire minute before he realizes that he really should have introduced Hannah to Jemma immediately. His girlfriend stands off to the side, arms wrapped tightly around her torso and staring at the ground. He knows that look, and it does not bode well for him. 

“Right! Sorry. Hannah, this is Jemma.” 

“So nice to meet you!” Hannah beams, shoving her hand out. Jemma takes it weakly and gives her a small smile of her own. 

“Yeah, you too. Hey, I’m going to let you two catch up. I’ll see you inside.” 

She turns on her heel and disappears back into the bar, leaving Fitz even more nervous than he was before. 

“Did I mess that up?” Hannah frowns. “I feel like I messed that up.” 

Fitz shakes his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “I think I did.” 

She pats his arm sympathetically. “Are you guys hanging out here? I was actually meeting a friend at this spot.” 

They go back into the bar together, but when Fitz approaches the table, Jemma isn’t there. 

“Where’s Jemma?” 

Bobbi and Skye settle their respective gazes on Hannah and then share a look before responding. 

“She said she wasn’t feel well, she slipped out the back right after she came in to grab her purse,” Skye informs him. 

Fitz’s brow furrows in concern. “Is she okay? She didn’t mention anything…I’ll head home, see if she needs anything.” 

Bobbi grabs his arm as he turns to bolt. “She said she just wants to rest for a bit, told us to let you know not to hurry home. Grab another beer.” 

Something doesn’t sit right with him, but he agrees to Jemma’s terms anyway. If she needed time to herself, for whatever reason, then he’ll give it to her. Ever since her brief disappearance, his hovering has bordered on agitating her. He doesn’t want her to think that he doesn’t know she can handle herself. 

He and Hannah each grab a beer and sit back down with his friends. Fitz gives the introductions and tries to ignore the way that Hunter looks at him when Hannah tells a story from when they briefly dated. 

“So, Hannah, do you have a boyfriend?” Skye asks suddenly, leaning forward on the table. 

“Nope,” Hannah responds awkwardly. “Not right now.” 

“Interesting. Girlfriend, then?” 

The blonde laughs. “Nope, not one of those either.” 

“Cool,” Skye notes, dragging out the word. “I’m Jemma’s sister, by the way. I don’t think I mentioned that.” 

Hannah’s eyebrows shoot up and Bobbi reels Skye back in. “She likes to brag about that,” Bobbi tries to explain away. “It’s a big deal.” 

“Yeah, cause she’s my sister and anyone who ever hurt her is someone I would kill, probably,” Skye continues, eying both Fitz and Hannah. 

“Skye, what are you doing?” Fitz hisses, leaning in toward her. Skye narrows her eyes. 

“I could ask the same of you.” 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” 

Bobbi pushes Skye back into her seat and looks at Fitz with pity. “You took Jemma on a walk to have a ‘talk’ that you couldn’t have in front of the rest of us, then basically ignored her when you ran into another woman. It doesn’t look great to her. Or, apparently, to Skye.” 

Fitz jumps up, eyes wide as he runs his hands through his curls. They stand up comically and Hannah grimaces. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to start anything.” 

Bobbi smiles at her kindly. “Don’t worry, we all know that.” 

“I don’t,” Skye grumbles petulantly. 

Trip chuckles warmly and slides the drink out of her fist. “I think you’re good on these, girl.” 

Fitz rushes through a goodbye to Hannah and races out the door, speed-walking home as quickly as he can. When he reaches the building, she’s sitting on the front steps with a joint dangling from her lips and headphones in, eyes shut. He sits beside her and her eyes fly open. 

“Shit!” she gasps, her joint nearly hitting the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he rushes. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

She pulls her headphones down to rest around her neck. “You came home early.” 

He lets out a puff of air, both from nerves and the chill of the evening. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. And then Hannah showed up and I fucked it all up.” 

She sighs, leaning her head against the railing beside her. “I just…is everything okay between us? It seemed like…like maybe it isn’t, and I just…if I’m spending too much time at your place, if you need more space or something I can—“ 

“No!” Fitz bursts. “No, no, that’s not…Jemma that’s the absolute opposite of what I want.” 

“Then what’s going on?” she asks, voice bordering on pleading. “We were fine until you went with Hunter to the bar, and then you got so weird…” 

“I want you to move in with me. Not just as a temporary thing, but for real.” 

Jemma’s mouth drops open and she drops the joint from her slackened fingers as well. “What about Skye?” 

“Hunter is moving in with Bobbi. She can take his room. Trip already said that he’d be fine with all of it, and you both live with us right now anyway. We’ve basically been living together for months, Jemma, and I want it to stay that way. I don’t want you to get your own place.” 

Her eyes start to shine with tears and he feels exceptionally nervous because this is the opposite of the reaction he was looking for, but then she’s smiling as well. 

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes. “I thought you were trying to break up with me.” 

Now he’s the one gaping like a fish out of water, and he slides closer to pull her into him. “God, no. Jemma! I can’t believe you thought that.” 

“You were behaving so strangely!” she protests, choking on a laugh. He can’t help but laugh a little bit too. 

“Hey, you never gave me an answer.” 

She pulls back and kisses him so hard that he nearly falls backward onto the step. When she retreats, she grins at him. “Of course it’s a yes, you dummy. I’d hate to have to pack up all of my things yet again. Moving is the worst.” 

He shakes his head. “You’re such a brat.” 

“Your brat. So what do you say we go christen our new bedroom before Skye and Trip get home?” 

He tilts his head and follows her as she stands, stomping out her joint and slipping it into her pocket. “Technically we wouldn’t be christening anything. We’ve been sleeping in that bed for a long time, and we’ve definitely had plenty of—“ 

“Are you seriously rationalizing your way out of having sex tonight?” Jemma asks sardonically at the front door. He quickly shakes his head no and practically shoves her through the door as soon as it opens. Her giggles echo through the empty hallway. 

*** 

She throws herself wholeheartedly into her efforts to get herself up to the standard of the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company, nearly the point that she forgets to maintain basic standards of self-care. 

Which is how Fitz finds himself standing in front of the studio with a bag of takeout clutched in his hands, waiting for the unsuspecting Jemma to come out. When the door swings open, he shoves the bag in her face. She shrieks and stumbles backward, shoving him away on instinct. 

“Are you serious?!” she shouts. “Fitz! You don’t surprise a woman who has been literally kidnapped!” 

He winces, crinkling his face in apology. “Sorry. But you really need to eat.” 

She eyes the bag warily. “Fitz, is this more fast food? You know I need to keep to my diet now.” 

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not, it’s a salad. Not that I’m endorsing this insane diet of yours, Jemma.” 

“It’s necessary. And it’s not even as extreme as it used to be. You know that.” 

She still looks pleased by the food he brought, though, and she lets them back into the studio since she can’t eat a salad and walk at the same time. They settle in on the floor of the same practice room that they’d first had sex in, and Fitz can’t help but grin lasciviously as soon as he recognizes it.

“Oh, Fitz!” Jemma protests with a small giggle. “Come on!” 

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re trying to seduce me.” 

She rolls her eyes, still smiling as she shovels a fork full of spinach into her mouth. He sticks his tongue out in disgust as he watches her. 

“I take it back. I am no longer attracted to you.” 

She kicks weakly at him and he laughs, stroking her calf with his fingers. 

“Hey, I have a surprise for you tomorrow. You’re done teaching at noon, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” she hums around a bit of lettuce. “I need to be back here at 8 to do some more work on my own, is that enough time?” 

“Oh, damn,” he teases. “My surprise is actually going to be thirteen straight hours. Guess I have to cancel it.” 

She huffs at him and shoves at his hand on her leg. “You’re a pain in the ass today!” 

“But I’m your pain in the ass,” he smiles cheekily.

“I suppose you are. Are we sure there’s no return policy?” 

He sighs heavily. “I’m afraid not.” 

She giggles and scoots close enough to lean against him. “Thanks for taking such good care of me, Fitz.” 

He drops a kiss to her forehead. “Someone’s gotta feed you.” 

“Skye wants to cook us all dinner tomorrow night. She said something about having a traditional roommate dinner every week, and that we’re going to have a special guest tomorrow?”

“No clue what she’s talking about,” he says simply. “Almost done, rabbit?” 

She crumbles up her napkin, tosses it into the empty container, and grins. “Yep. Shall we?” 

He helps her to her feet and takes her trash to the bin, interlocking their fingers as soon as he can. “So, any news on that reading?” 

It takes him a minute to catch up, until he remembers that she’s referring to the reading his agent contacted him about. It’s back in New York, and one that he’s tentative to go on. He hasn’t returned to New York since the big move and he doesn’t feel a huge rush to go back. Part of him is concerned that he’ll be overwhelmed with nostalgia and desperately want to go back, despite the fantastic life that he’s built for himself in Seattle with his friends and with Jemma. The other part of him worries that the way he remembers New York in his head will be crushed by the real thing. 

“I still haven’t decided. I have until Saturday to make the call.” 

“Well, I think it might be good for you,” she suggests. 

“Eager to have a break from me?” 

“A whole bed to myself? Absolutely,” she teases. She swings his hand and gives it a little squeeze. “I just think it would be nice for you to reconsider what your options are.” 

He freezes, causing her to halt as well. “What does that mean?” 

“You said you’d follow me wherever I could go,” Jemma says cautiously. “I don’t want you to end up standing still because my life got put on hold.” 

He tugs her back into him and looks at her seriously. “Jemma, standing still isn’t always a bad thing. Why keep moving when you’re exactly where you want to be?” 

She kisses him quickly and then rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Walt Whitman. I desperately need a shower.” 

“Y’know, I did notice that,” he jokes. He anticipates her light smack to his arm before it even comes, and spends the rest of the stroll home grinning like an idiot.


	11. we had a promise made (we were in love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, this fic has just become rambling fluff. And as sad as I'll be to be done with it, the next chapter will be the last one! 
> 
> I really want to focus on my Hollywood AU and my new Inhuman AU that I'm working on, as well as a couple of other ideas I have. Thanks for being on this crazy, strange little ride with this fic.

Jemma eyes the car wearily. “Where did you get this?” 

“I rented it,” he shrugs. “C’mon, Jem, don’t be difficult about it. Just get in the car.” 

“I’ve known you for years and yet I have never seen you drive,” she defends, gingerly opening the passenger door of the sedan. “Forgive me for being cautious.” 

He laughs, starting the car as she clicks her seatbelt into place. “I’m an excellent driver, I’ll have you know.” 

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that when you say you’re excellent at something…you’re usually not,” she teases, smirk dancing on her lips as he starts driving. He glances over at her with a matching grin of his own. 

“That’s not the impression I got last night.” 

Her cheeks heat up and she bats at him, laughing. Fitz feels extraordinarily light. The days he’d spent desperately trying to move past Jemma Simmons in New York had been some of the very darkest of his life. And yet here he was, driving through the rain with a giggling Jemma beside him, fingers entwined with hers. 

He turns onto the freeway, and Jemma’s eyebrows raise. “Fitz? Where are we going?” 

“If I told you, there would be no surprise,” Fitz laughs. 

“Would you have to kill me?” 

He raises a brow at her. “That wasn’t originally part of the plan, but now that you mention it…” 

Her laugh is like a drug and he never wants to be sober. She starts to get excited about the surprise, blasting the radio and belting out pop songs at him while he pretends to find it all annoying. He’s not a very good actor and Jemma doesn’t buy it for even a minute. 

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the exit, pulling off of the freeway just as Jemma finishes some new Fall Out Boy song. She looks around suspiciously. They’re in the suburbs just outside of the city limits, and he watches her mind map out their location. 

“I usually know what you’re thinking, but for once I’m completely stumped,” Jemma admits with a little pout. “I can’t say I like it.” 

“Now you see how the rest of us mere mortals feel.” 

He had contemplated blind folding her, but her reaction to his surprising her at the studio last night put a stop to that idea. It’s almost better, he thinks, to watch the recognition fall over her face as she turns into the Seattle Humane Society parking lot. He parks and she looks at him tenderly.

“Fitz…” 

“I’ve read almost all of your letters by now,” he explains, voice soft as his hand reaches for her knee. “But the one that’s stuck with me most, the one about my dedication page and the life we might have if you could one day explain everything to me—I can’t get it out of my head. And we almost have all of that, except for one thing. Now, I already ran it by Trip and Skye, and if you don’t want to do this I totally understand, but—“ 

“We’re getting a cat!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around him awkwardly with the center console between them. She kisses him, hard and fast, her grin getting in the way. 

“I told you it was a good surprise.” 

He can hardly catch up with her as she unbuckles her seatbelt and scrambles out of the car. She grabs his hand tightly and practically runs into the doors. There are several rooms of cat cages, some wide open and some still closed, and her eyes look at them all hungrily. Fitz chuckles warmly and tells her to go look around while he speaks with the adoption consultant. 

“Hi there,” Fitz greets. “We spoke on the phone. I brought the letter from my landlord saying that we’re allowed a pet. Is there anything else we should do?” 

The woman smiles at him and hands him a clipboard. “Here’s our adoption survey. Fill it out and take a look around. Write the numbers of any pets you might be interested in, and then we’ll do some meet and greets.” 

He glances up and finds Jemma cooing into a cage, fingers wiggling between the bars as a ginger cat rubs against them. He plops down in a chair to fill out the paper work, just basic questions about how often they’re home and how many people they live with. 

“Leo, how are we supposed to choose?” Jemma asks, distressed. “They’re all so sweet.” 

“Trip and Skye approved one cat,” Fitz reminds her teasingly. “We can’t come home with an entire rescue.” 

She sighs. “I know, I know. But look!” 

She points to a little black cat, curled up wearily in the back corner of her cage. When Jemma puts her fingers in, he retreats even further. Jemma’s eyes turn incredibly sad. 

“He’s so scared, Leo.” 

If it was really up to him, they’d end up with the chubby, friendly ginger cat still meowing for more of Jemma’s affections, but he has a feeling that they’ll be leaving with the skinny, terrified black one. He jots down the number on the sheet and encourages Jemma to interact with some other ones as well. 

The more that they look at, the harder it gets. He really thought he’d be able to be objective in this decision, but their little furry faces tug at his heartstrings. In the end, he falls head over heels for a grey and white tabby cat. 

“Jem,” he whispers. “Jem, look at him.” 

He’s fairly small, and he lazily bats at Fitz’s hand through the bars of his cage. Jemma coos, leaning down to take a better look at him. Her eyes flit to Fitz’s face and she can barely hide her smile. Sure, he’d thought the other’s were cute, but there’s something about the look in his eyes that tells her this is the one. 

“Let’s ask if we can take him out,” Jemma suggests. “I quite like him.” 

Fitz’s eager nod is all the confirmation she needs, and they find themselves in a separate little room with the cat, who winds himself in and out of their ankles, fondly rubbing against them. Jemma leans down and picks him up, scratching behind his ears and receiving a satisfied purr in return. 

“I want him,” Fitz quietly admits. “If there’s another one you like more—“ 

“He’s perfect,” Jemma agrees, leaning over to peck him quickly on the lips. “He’s precious, and very affectionate. He’ll make a great addition to Sunday afternoon cuddle puddles.” 

“I’ve told you and Skye this a thousand times, we’re not having cuddle puddles—“ 

Jemma cuts him off with another peck before nodding at the door. “Go let her know that we’d like him, if they’ll let us take him home today.” 

Fitz leaps up and goes to the front desk, gesturing nervously as he asks the adoption consultant about the process. Jemma giggles, letting the cat nudge her face with his forehead. 

“He really likes you,” she coos to him. “I always knew he’d be a cat person if he just gave it a shot. I knew it.” 

Fitz gives her an enthusiastic thumbs-up through the glass door of the room and Jemma smiles back, returning it with a wink. He waves her over and she goes to him, holding onto the cat firmly while he chooses a cat carrier and a little red collar for him. 

“He’ll be an indoor cat Fitz.” 

“But what if he gets lost?!” 

Jemma can’t argue with that, so she lets him buy it, along with an inordinate amount of cat toys. She just watches, face pleasantly warm. The cat’s name, given to him by the shelter, is Smokey, but Fitz doesn’t think it’s quite right. 

“Can we rename him?” he asks the woman at the counter as Jemma places him in the carrier. “Or will that confuse him, d’you think?” 

The woman laughs good-naturedly and shares an amused look with Jemma. “Cats aren’t quite like dogs. If you think a better name would suit him, then go right ahead.” 

He looks at Jemma excitedly. “What do you think of--?” 

“We’re not naming the cat after any kind of strange writer, okay? No Camus, no Sartre—“ 

“I don’t only like existentialist writers,” Fitz grumbles. He chooses not to mention that his first thought had, in fact, been Camus. 

They thank the adoption specialist and head to the car. Fitz frets about the cat being scared during the ride, but Jemma assures him that he’ll be just fine as she secures the cat carrier in the back seat. 

The entire ride home, they bicker about cat names. Fitz doesn’t want anything too typical, as he’d insisted when she suggested Tiger. Bandit was also out of the question. Jemma didn’t want anything too human-like. Albert, John, Ernest, and Scott had all been promptly rejected by her. 

“What about Bean?” Jemma suggests. “His little toe-pads look like beans, don’t you think?” 

Fitz’s face crinkles in a laugh but then smoothes out in thought. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but—I kind of like that.” 

Jemma grins. “His name is Bean.” 

“Hey, I said I kind of—“ 

“His name is Bean,” Jemma repeats firmly. Shaking his head, he squeezes her hand and accepts the cat’s new name. 

“Skye will love it, I’m sure.” 

Jemma hums, leaning her head against the cool glass of the car window. “So, any more thoughts on New York?” 

He doesn’t miss the tension in her body. “I think I’m gonna go. You were right, it’s a good opportunity and maybe I’ll get some kind of—closure.” 

“Good,” she says primly. “I’m glad that you’re going. Um, if you run into anyone, from before, can you not—“ 

“—tell them about you?” Fitz asks when her voice trails off. “Yeah, no problem.” 

She smiles gratefully and they ride the rest of the way back to the apartment in comfortable, contented silence. The afternoon is spent with Skye, who oohs and awes over the newest addition to their strange group of roommates. Bean, for his part, spends a great deal of time exploring his new digs while the human occupants of the apartment slowly begin to learn what needs to be cat-proofed. 

“I got a call from May today,” Skye tells them as she moves a toy in front of Bean’s face. “Apparently she and Coulson think I’d be a good fit to run their CI intake program.” 

Jemma grins. “Skye! That would be fantastic. So you would do what exactly?” 

“Basically I would explain the program to people and be their point of contact, other than when they really need something from a specific detective. I would help set up new identities, find housing, just be someone to talk to—that kind of stuff.” 

“You’d be great at that,” Fitz agrees. 

Skye smiles. “Y’know, I actually think I might be. I don’t know that the journalism thing is really for me. Not anymore. After everything we both went through, I want to do something that really makes a difference.” 

“Sounds like you found it,” Jemma says happily. “And how nice, to keep working with May and Coulson and even Bobbi!” 

“Speaking of, did you hear that they’re pushing the wedding date forward?” Skye asks. Jemma’s brow furrows and she shakes her head rapidly. 

“No! And I’m the Maid of Honor, you would think I would know these things.” 

“Yeah, I guess they don’t want to wait a full year. Pretty crazy for two people whose relationship was built on a lie but hey, they’re Bobbi and Hunter,” Fitz supplies. Jemma gapes. 

“You knew?!” 

“Yeah, Hunter told me,” Fitz explains with this hands raised in defense. “Don’t shoot the bloody messenger.” 

Jemma huffs. “Well, if she expects me to hand letter all of the invitations that quickly, then she is crazy!” 

“Okay, crazy Pinterest mom,” Skye laughs. She jumps up and heads for the kitchen. “You guys want a drink?” 

They both say yes and she comes back with three bottles of beer. Bean hops up next to Jemma, curling into her lap. “Aw, he’s settling in so well!” 

“He really is,” Fitz beams proudly. He scoots closer to Jemma so that he can pet Bean as well. Skye bites down on her lip to prevent herself from laughing at the matching adoring looks that Fitz and Jemma are giving the cat. She subtly pulls out her phone and snaps a few photos, smiling to herself as she sends one to Trip. 

Fitz absolutely hates being on social media, but she doesn’t care. She spends nearly ten minutes picking the perfect filter before captioning the photo “Mom and Dad brought home a new kid #ihaveasibling.” 

Jemma puts on Friends, snuggles up with Fitz and their new cat, and giggles at Skye’s ridiculous running commentary. The door opens and Trip stops in the doorway. 

“Y’all are the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he grins. Skye leaps up to peck him on the lips and Fitz exchanges an ecstatic glance with Jemma. 

“Are you two…going steady?” Jemma asks, waggling her eyebrows. 

“Oh my God,” Skye groans, rolling her head back. “Jemma, you talk like somebody’s grandmother.” 

Fitz gives Jemma a once over and then smirks at Skye. “Not all the time.” 

Skye dramatically gags and Trip laughs warmly, kissing her head before approaching Bean on the couch. “This little guy is so cute.” 

“Isn’t he?” Jemma says proudly. “He’s settling in so well. No anxiety or anything.” 

“This is our life now,” Skye declares. She pretends to be disappointed, but the grin on her face shows how pleased she is. “I went from spending two years on the run to spending my nights at home, watching Friends and snuggling with cats with you nerds.” 

Jemma’s smile matches Skye’s, and they spend a solid minute just beaming at each other. From scrawny teenagers to undercover informants to where they are now, they’ve come so far. 

Jemma snuggles deeper into Fitz, his fingers tangling in her hair. She thinks back on the letter she’d written a whole other lifetime ago. The future she’d envisioned was beautiful, but somehow this is even better. 

*** 

Jemma comes with him in the cab to the airport, even though he insists that she doesn’t have to. The last time she’d watched him get in a cab, it’d almost been the last time she’d ever seen him. The cab waits for her while she says goodbye to him on the curb. 

“Text me when you land?” she asks, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Of course,” he agrees, kissing her deeply. The cab driver honks impatiently and he pulls away. “Be safe while I’m gone, okay? Hunter’s gonna walk you back from the studio at night.” 

She rolls her eyes and pecks him quickly. “I don’t think that’s necessary, but fine.” 

“I love you,” he murmurs. “See you in a few days.” 

“Love you too,” she returns, squeezing him one last time. “See you soon.” 

He watches her get back into the cab before hoisting his duffel bag up on his shoulder and entering the airport. Security doesn’t take too long, and he settles in at his terminal with an overpriced cup of tea and a new novel he’s been meaning to start. He slips on his headphones and opens his book, nearly missing the folded up note that falls into his lap. The familiar handwriting on it immediately brings a smile to his lips.

Dear Fitz, 

I know you’ll only be gone a few days, but I’ll miss you so much. Bean and I will hold down the fort for you. I’m so happy that you’re going back to New York, and I know that your reading is going to be amazing. I wish I could be there with you, but my audition is coming up fast. I’m so lucky to have such a supportive, amazing, talented boyfriend. Everyone who tells you to fall in love with your best friend really had the right idea. Have a safe flight, I can’t wait to see you. 

Love,  
Jemma 

He reads the note over and over before delicately folding it and slipping it into the pocket of his denim jacket. He starts reading, but even the talent of the author isn’t quite enough to distract him from already missing Jemma. 

He’d feel a little bit ridiculous about it if their circumstances were different, but given the fact that she’d disappeared for two years and then been kidnapped once he finally had her back, he figures that it’s probably okay to be a little bit clingy in some sense. He gives up on reading, shutting his book and pulling out his notebook instead. 

The pen flies across the page. For so long, his writing has come from a place of misery and longing. A small part of him had been afraid that he wouldn’t have any words left in him once he was happy, and he is extraordinarily pleased to be wrong. 

It’s easy to write about Jemma, about the way she looks in the morning and about her incredibly touching relationship with Skye. He’s even written a few poems about Bobbi and Hunter’s simultaneously tender and chaotic relationship. It amazes him how easily words flow when he’s surrounded by love on all sides. 

He’s so involved in his writing that he nearly misses the call to board the plane. When it takes off, he stares down at Seattle as long as he can until it’s swallowed up by the clouds. 

New York had been his dream and then it had become his nightmare when Jemma up and left. His move to Seattle had been primarily reckless, desperate impulse. In his first month in his new city, he’d desperately longed for New York. Now that he’s finally heading back, he can’t wait to get on his return flight back home. 

Back to his crazy friends, his girlfriend, and now, their cat. His fingers rub against the note in his pocket for almost the entire five hour flight.


	12. you were always gold to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz goes to New York for a book reading and is surprised by an unexpected guest.

Fitz stands on the subway, arm wrapped around the pole and his own book clutched in his hand. He furrows his brow, reading over the same poem yet again. It doesn’t really feel right for the reading. If he reads this one first, then it sets a tone that gets completely off-set by the flow of his other works.

 

But Jemma asked him to read this one. It’s her favorite, and she can’t be there, and he’d do just about anything for her. He promised her he’d find someone to FaceTime the reading on his phone so she could watch it, and he can’t break his promise to her that he’ll read this poem. Even if she _couldn’t_ see him, he’s sure he wouldn’t have it in him.

 

Just the thought of her makes him smile, and he glances up at a couple of college kids sitting nearby. They talk in hushed, excited voices, shiny with the glow of young adult life in New York City. For the first time in forever, he doesn’t feel a twinge when he thinks about his time with Jemma in New York.

 

He recalls afternoons riding the subway with her, trying to snatch his notebook back from her hands while she eagerly devoured his half-completed poems. He thinks about the late nights on the way home from bars they were too young to be in, watching her hum to herself and dance on the nearly-deserted station platforms while they waited for the train back to Brooklyn. Walking down the street while she teased him for eating three hot dogs in three minutes. Trips to Coney Island. That time she dragged him to F.A.O. Schwartz so they could play on the piano from the movie Big.

 

Everything is hazy at the edges but it was real, what they had here, and the reminder of it heartens him. He’d truly expected to feel an ache, some remnants of her leaving seeping back into his gut.

 

 _Closure_ , he thinks. That’s what this must be what it is. She’s with him, now, and she’s not going anywhere. He’s secure in that—for the first time in his life, he’s secure in just about _everything_. Bobbi and Hunter will be married soon, and his friendships are secure and stable. Jemma is his girlfriend—honest to god his _girlfriend—_ and they live together, even have a cat. She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

 

No matter what happens, she’s with him, now. There’s no more secrets, no more unanswered questions, no more bitterness about the years they lost.

 

He smiles to himself and flips to another poem in his book. He’ll find an order that will read well together.

 

He’ll start with her favorite and he’ll work from there.

 

***

 

It’s strange, doing a reading without his friends there. He’s gotten used to it in recent months. At least one or two of them had accompanied him to every reading—in San Francisco, Los Angeles, even Boise.

 

Looking out into the crowded bookstore audience, it’s somewhat unnerving to not see Bobbi’s blonde hair or Jemma wide grin. He misses Skye’s goofy faces to try to make him crack on stage, Trip smiling in amusement at his girlfriend’s antics from his seat beside her.

 

He clears his throat and begins. “Hi, everyone. I’m Leo Fitz, obviously. Thanks so much for coming out tonight. This is actually the place where I did my first reading. I haven’t been back to New York in…well, it’s been a while. It’s nice to be back.”

 

He tries to look directly at his phone, held up in the middle of the audience by his publisher’s assistant, Karen Page. She’d been quite gracious about being a human tri-pod; yet again, Karen Page had always been almost unreasonably kind.

 

“This is one of my newer ones. Here it is.”

 

“We will not be pulled to the grave,  
But we will be pulled to the edge of it.  
I will bring myself to the brink,  
But I will not say  _enough;_

Death will have to do that itself.

Is suffering a way of cheating death?

If I don’t believe in God,  
Then I don’t know where I’m supposed to think  
Pain comes from.  
  
Flaming swords and closing gates  
Just don’t do it for me.

I’m not sure if we choose to connect with people  
Or if we have to choose not to  
Because I’m never sure how to tell  
If the divisions between us are dissolved.

Consciousness is only a form of mourning  
The only things we are conscious of are already gone.

Death need not be proud of its monopoly on finality.”

 

A smattering of polite applause echoes in the bookstore and he grins a little bit. It never ceases to amaze him that people are here for him—here to listen to his words, the pieces of himself that he’s laid out before them.

 

“That one is my girlfriend’s favorite,” he chuckles. “Which is funny, since it’s one of the few that isn’t actually _about_ her.”

 

This gets him a little laugh and he flips to his next poem. A little smile plays at his lips as he hears Jemma’s tinny laughter over the phone speaker. It’s soft, almost indistinguishable, but he would recognize it anywhere.

 

“Sorry, these next few are…well, pretty much all about her.”

 

“I am a man made of   
love letters, made of salt water,  
a beating heart and blood.

 

I am a man made of hot wax,

poured onto paper   
made of candle flame   
metallic taste  
and adhesion.

 

I am a man made of bone marrow  
made of keratin  
calcium  
and cartilage.

 

I am a man with a heart

on a sleeve  
stitched there with   
a thread made of you.”   


The reading continues as scheduled. He reads for an hour, eyes remaining almost exclusively on the small phone screen held up by Karen, near the front row. It’s not the same as having her actually here, but Skye makes a brief appearance in the corner of the screen before Hunter briefly steals the phone, too.

 

It’s enough for him, to know that across the country there’s a rag-tag group of weirdos all interested in hearing his poems for the tenth, fifteenth, twentieth time. Who have seen him lay himself bare time and time again and have chosen to stick by him anyway.

 

With that thought in mind, he pushes through the reading and the obligatory mingling before returning to his empty hotel room. He picks up his cell and flops onto the bed, clicking Jemma’s name at the top of his favorites.

 

“You were nothing short of extraordinary,” Jemma says as soon as she answers.

 

“You just say that cause they’re all about you,” he teases. Jemma laughs, and he can hear her shifting around. “Are you going to bed already?”

 

He glances over at the clock beside him. The red numbers tell him that it’s only 9:00 p.m. in Seattle.

 

“Um…yes?”

 

“You’ve always been a horrible liar,” he frowns. “What are you really doing?”

 

“Oh, I’m just tired,” she fibs. He can tell there’s something off about her voice. “It’s been a long day. So I’m…sleeping. Very soon.”

 

“Should I…let you go to bed?” he asks tentatively. He chews on his lip, nervous about the fact that Jemma seems to be hiding something from him.

 

“No, no!” she exclaims quickly. He hears something zip and his frown deepens. “I want to hear all about your first day back in New York. Anything different since I saw it last?”

 

He decides to do his best to let this one go—whatever it is she’s hiding, he’s sure she’ll tell him soon. At least, he really hopes so.

 

“Well, that place we used to go for tea was replaced by a Starbucks,” he informs her with a little shrug. “No big surprise there.”

 

“Aw,” she sighs in disappointment. “But the owner was so nice!”

 

“Yeah, quite sad, isn’t it?” he commiserates. “But other than that—still the same old New York. Everything kind of smells, there’s a hell of a lot of people, the subway system still makes little to no sense—“

 

“Fitz,” Jemma cuts him off with a laugh. “You used to _love_ that city.”

 

“Well then, maybe something _has_ changed about New York.”

 

“Or maybe something’s changed about you,” Jemma points out primly. “I’m a bit surprised, to be quite honest. I sort of suspected you’d be…well, that you’d be excited to be back.”

 

There’s something strangely delicate about the tone of her voice. He sits up on one elbow, at attention even though she can’t see him. “I am, in some ways. Not so much in others.”

 

“And how’s that?”

 

“I guess…it’s kind of like going back to a place you used to know really well, and nothing about it has changed, but you have.”

 

“Fitzgerald,” she points out wryly. “Don’t think I don’t read, too, Fitz.”

 

He barks out a laugh. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I couldn’t really tell you what feels so different but….something does.”

 

“Something good?”

 

“Something,” he answers vaguely. “So I saw that Skye and Hunter made some appearances at the reading.”

 

Jemma rolls her eyes. “You know, even though he doesn’t actually _live_ here anymore, I think I see more of Hunter than I ever did before.”

 

Fitz chuckles. “He didn’t piss off Bobbi again and get sent to crash on our couch?”

 

“No, no,” Jemma laughs. “They’re doing quite well, actually. Bobbi and I did a bit of wedding shopping today.”

 

“Exciting stuff,” Fitz comments. “I can’t believe they’re actually going through with it.”

 

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line. “Really? It makes sense to me. When you’ve found the person you want to be with, there’s not much of a point in waiting, is there?”

 

His heart starts beating about ten times faster and he swallows down the brief wave of panic that settles over him. “You’re not proposing to me over the phone, are you?”

 

This sends her into a peel of giggles. “No, you dummy! We both know I’d make a rather grand gesture of it.”

 

“Ah yes,” Fitz grins. “Empty dance studios and hanging envelopes and—“

 

“Hey!” Jemma squeaks indignantly. “No making fun of me for that.”

 

“You know I loved it,” he says gently. He can practically hear her smile through the phone.

 

Jemma suddenly yawns, loudly and dramatically, and he just _knows_ it’s a fake. “Well, Fitz, I hate to cut this short but I’m really quite knackered. I’ll see you in a few days?”

 

“Yeah, sure. Sleep well, Jemma.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

He hangs up and tosses his phone to the side, staring up at the ceiling in confusion. Whatever the hell she was lying about, she _really_ didn’t feel like telling him. The sound of a zipper—maybe on a bag—has him on edge.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” he says to himself. “She’s not taking off again.”

 

But telling himself that doesn’t make it much easier to sleep. He spends a good amount of time tossing and turning, picking up his phone and scrolling through his various social media feeds. Earlier that day, Bobbi had posted an Instagram photo of herself and Jemma, faces smushed together and glasses of champagne in their hands.

 

_Checked our some dresses today with my Maid of Dishonor_

He snorts, tracing Jemma’s smiling, goofy face with his thumb. He scrolls further to find a video of Hunter lip-syncing to some pop song in his security guard uniform while Trip covers his face behind him, shaking his head slowly side to side.

 

He can’t wait to get back to Seattle. He wants to have a beer with Hunter and Trip, wants to explain to them how Jemma had been acting and have them comfort him. They’d always been good at talking him down from spirals. Well, at least Trip was. But Hunter was always good for a laugh to ease the tension.

 

He falls into a fitful sleep for a few hours, waking up around 5 a.m. He finds himself unable to fall back asleep, and after half an hour of trying, decides to go for a little trip down memory lane. He shrugs on his jacket, popping his earbuds in and shoving his hands in his pockets before making his way aimlessly down the mostly-empty streets.

 

This early in the morning is one of the few times New York feels _somewhat_ quiet. Jemma had been the one to teach him that, dragging him out of bed while he moaned and groaned and whined.

 

Before he knows it, he finds himself in front of a familiar building Greenwich, near NYU. It had been his freshman roommate’s off-campus apartment—the place where he’d first met Jemma. He smiles to himself with a little shake of his head.

 

If she was here, she’d shove him on the shoulder. _Predictable,_ he can imagine her saying, with a roll of her eyes and a kiss to his cheek.

 

He makes his way to the side of the building, the alley near the dumpsters. With a running hop, he jumps onto the fire escape and slowly and (he hopes) quietly makes his way to the roof of the building. He reaches the top, slightly out of breath but feeling exhilarated all at once.

 

Fitz makes his way over to the side of the building facing the street and sits, feet dangling over the top. It’s not a very tall building—about six stories—and the sun hasn’t quite risen yet. The moon is still visible, a few lingering stars in the rapidly lightening sky.

 

He contemplates calling Jemma, but it’s the middle of the night there and she’d told him she had to be up early. The last thing he wants to do is wake her up, even if he does have a building and irrepressible anxiety about the way she’d sounded on the phone last night.

 

Over the quiet music in his ear phones, he hears someone else climbing the fire escape. Cursing, he pops them out and turns around just in time to see—the last person he ever expected to see on this roof.

 

“Jemma,” he breathes. “What the—how are you—what—“

 

She laughs and practically skips toward him as he stands. She throws her arms around him and tugs his face down for a kiss. “I’m glad I see I succeeded in surprising you.”

 

He laughs, tucking an errant strand of hair behind one ear. “So you weren’t going to sleep last night.”

 

Jemma grimaces. “I know, I’m a horrible liar. I was finishing up packing and heading to the airport.”

 

“I thought you said you couldn’t afford to leave. You needed to be practicing, and--”

 

She shrugs. “I just wanted the chance to surprise you, for once.”

 

He snorts. “As if you haven’t spent the last five years surprising me.”

 

She smiles and intertwines her fingers with his, leading him back to the edge of the roof. She sits and he follows her, thrown back to the moment they met all those years ago.

 

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks her, watching the side of her face as she stares out over the city.

 

She shakes her head. “No. Not really. I do sometimes, I think. But then I think of how everything turned out and I don’t miss it so much. Sure, I miss ABT. I miss dancing, and I’ll always miss the life we had here—but more in the way that you miss something good when you have something better. If that makes any sense to you.”

 

He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, it does.”

 

She scrunches up her nose as she turns to him. “I don’t think I would do anything differently.”

 

As soon as she says it, she looks like she regrets it. Something flashes in her eyes and he recognizes it instantly. It’s the look she gets when she’s scared she’s hurt him, or that she’s going to hurt him.

 

“Hey,” he says softly, imploring her to look him in the eyes. She does, cautiously, and he smiles at her. “I would too.”

 

Her eyebrows shoot up and she leans back gently. On instinct, his hands reach out to steady her. This may not be a tall building by New York standards, but they’re still six stories up.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. “I’d do everything the same. All of the pain and the mistakes—as long as it meant ending up where we are now. Exactly as we are now.”

 

She positively beams, surging forward to kiss him languidly. He returns her affections in earnest, mindful of their position on the roof at all times.

 

“So what exactly are you doing here?” he finally asks when they pull apart. He leans his forehead against hers affectionately. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but—“

 

“Do you want to move back here?” she blurts out. He reels backward, and now it’s her turn to make sure he doesn’t fall to his death.

 

“Do you?”

 

“I asked you first!” she exclaims, tossing her hands up. “Do you want to live here?”

 

He takes a deep breath, staring out over the city as the run begins to rise. Sure, he had always dreamed of this—him and Jemma, living together in New York, happily in a relationship. But that’s changed, now. They have too many things for them in Seattle, too many people that they love and care about outside of just each other. She’s still the center of his universe, but she’s no longer the only thing in his universe.

 

“No,” he answers honestly. “I like Seattle. I like our life there.”

 

Jemma’s entire body relaxes and she collapses backwards onto the pebbles of the rooftop. He follows her immediately, turning his head to look at her.

 

“Why?” he questions. “Why did you ask me that?”

 

She takes a deep breath and gives him a shaky smile. “I—I got an audition. With the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company.”

 

“Jemma!” he practically shouts, sitting up to stare down at her. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?!”

 

“You were coming back here,” she says sheepishly. “And I knew—well, I know how much this place always meant to you. I didn’t want to take the audition if there was some chance you might want to come back here.”

 

His brow furrows. “What d’you mean?”

 

“If you’d wanted to come back, I would have come with you,” she says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And he sort of thinks that maybe it is, because he’d follow her just about anywhere, too. He swings himself over, one arm on either side of her.

 

“I’m really proud of you, Jemma,” he tells her sincerely. “After everything—you deserve it.”

 

“I wouldn’t be here without you, you know,” she tells him. He immediately shakes his head.

 

“Yes you would have,” he assures her. “You’re brilliant all on your own.”

 

“Fine,” she sighs, smiling up at him. “Well I wouldn’t want to be here without you.”

 

He bends down to kiss her, softly, pulling back to nuzzle his nose against hers. He sighs, leaning down to bury his face in her neck. She giggle at the feeling of his stubble against the soft skin of her neck.

 

“Oh man, nineteen year old me would be having a field day right about now,” he murmurs against her.

 

“You could have kissed me the first time we were up here,” she tells him matter-of-factly. He pops back up to stare at her with wide eyes.

 

“Nuh-uh!”

 

“Yuh-huh!” she fires back. “Seriously, I was sitting up here almost all night with you! What kind of girl does that if she’s not trying to be kissed?”

 

“Are you telling me I could have spent years— _years_ , Jemma—putting my mouth on your mouth—“

 

“—and my other parts—“

 

He chokes. “And you never told me?”

 

She laughs. “Well, you never told _me_!”

 

He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes. “Everything the same. All over again.”

 

She leans up on her elbows to kiss him, nipping lightly on his bottom lip. “All over again. Exactly the same way.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says. “I really just…can’t believe it.”

 

“You have the day free, right?” Jemma asks excitedly. “I thought we could walk around, check out some of our old favorite spots.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love that. How’d you find me here anyway?”

 

“I checked your hotel first, but when I went up to your room and you weren’t there, I figured you must be here.”

 

“Must be?” he questions. “I didn’t even know where I was going until I showed up here.”

 

She grins at him cheekily. “Guess I know you better than you do.”

 

“Apparently.”

 

He helps her up off of the ground and they make their way back down the fire escape, doing their best to refrain from clambering too loudly down the metal and waking the occupants of the apartment building. They both land clumsily on their feet in the ally, immediately linking hands as they walk down the familiar street.

 

“Where to first?” he questions. She contemplates the question for a long while and then nods definitively.

 

“The diner.”

 

He grins at her. “The diner it is.”

 

They spend the entire day wandering the streets and parks of New York City, reminiscing and bickering over what events truly occurred in which location. It’s so lovely and familiar that, for a split second, Fitz begins to regret his determined answer that he had no interest in moving back to New York. But then they get a call from Bobbi, checking in because Jemma had disappeared in the dead of night, and he’s reminded of everything and everyone else that they have now.

 

All of the moments that they shared on these streets are a lifetime away; they feel as though they happened to someone else. Just like he’d written in his poem, it feels like he’s standing at the end of a long tunnel—only now he’s on the right side, and Jemma is beside him. He can clearly see the other side, and the other side is the damp, steep streets of Seattle, surrounded by their friends. Hopefully with Jemma finding her new place in a new ballet. If anyone deserves to start over, it’s her. So he squeezes her hand and kisses her at the fountain where they filmed the opening of Friends when she starts humming “I’ll Be There For You” under her breath, and he never mentions his flicker of doubt that has now been extinguished.

 

That night, on their flight back to Seattle, Jemma nods off with her head on his shoulder. He looks down at the top of her head, wondering what dreams and thoughts dance around inside while she sleeps. He wonders if she dreams about taking the stage again—and not a stage surrounded by vile men offering her dollar bills. He wonders if she dreams of their days in New York. If she has nightmares about her time at Badlands. If she dreams about walking down an aisle, Fitz waiting for her at the other side.

 

The thought jolts him out of his half-consciousness.

 

He absolutely, one-hundred percent wants to be waiting for her at the end of an aisle. For one feverish moment, he contemplates shaking her awake and asking her to marry him here and now, but she deserves better than that. Besides, it’s still too soon. They’ve only been dating for a few months, now, and they’re still settling in to living together. As much as he hates to admit it, he has to—they still have some issues to work through and cracks to mend, and putting a ring on her finger certainly won’t solve any of that.

 

But the hope of it? The hope of someday?

 

Well, that can solve a whole lot.


	13. we deserve a soft epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year and six months after they were in New York City, Jemma opens at the Pacific Northwest Ballet. Fitz has something important to say.

**Epilogue: One Year, Six Months Later**

 

Fitz tugs nervously at his tie and Bobbi bats his hands away. She towers over him in her heels and fancy beaded dress. They linger in the lobby of the Paramount Theater on Pine Street in the heart of Downtown Seattle. Skye shoves him lightly.

 

“You know she’s gonna be amazing,” Skye says, half-warning and half-comfort.

 

“Yeah, it’s not her I’m worried about,” he tells her wryly. He wipes his hands on his suit pants and Trip claps him on the back.

 

“Everything’s going to be great,” his always-positive friend assures him.

 

“And hey, if things go horribly wrong, it may not be the worst thing,” Hunter jokes. He holds up his hand, flashing his wedding band. “Just saying, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

 

Bobbi smacks him. “I’ll remember you said that later tonight.”

 

Hunter immediately changes his tune, snatching his new wife’s hand and kissing it dramatically. “Marriage is the most beautiful thing you can ever enter into.”

 

Fitz rolls his eyes with a little laugh as the lights flash to beckon the audience members to their seats. “Come on. We’re in the front, the last thing Jemma needs is to see us coming in late on her big night.”

 

It’s her opening night as principal dancer in the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company, and she’s dancing as Clara in the yearly production of the Nutcracker. Her journey to reach this point has been incredible. The hard work, the blisters and bruises, have all been worth it to bring her here.

 

They take their seats in the third row center, where Jemma can actually see them beyond the lights, although he doubts that she’ll even spare a glance in their direction. She’d been shaking ever since she woke up that morning and he’s practically had to force her to eat little bits throughout the day.

 

Fitz sits in the dead center, flanked by Skye on one side and Hunter on the other. His knee bounces nervous and Hunter steadies him with one knee.

 

“I mean it,” Hunter says quietly to him. “It’s going to be great.”

 

Fitz nods, gulping nervously. He’s still a little unsure, but then the curtain pulls up and all thoughts of what’s to come later are chased out of his mind by his immediate need to watch every moment of Jemma’s big comeback.

 

(Even though Skye had posted a selfie with Jemma earlier, holding up her ballet shoes, with the caption _Don’t call it a comeback #returnoftheblackswan #hotterthannatalieportman_ )

 

A comeback is exactly what this is, and he couldn’t be more proud of Jemma for everything that she’s done to bring herself here. Even without all that she’d been through, this would have been an extraordinary accomplishment, but considering the last several years of her life, it’s truly an incredibly feat that she’s managed to claw her way to the gig of principal dancer in the biggest production of the year.

 

When Jemma first makes her appearance on stage, he sucks in a sharp breath that he forgets to release until his lungs scream for him to breathe again. She twirls with ease on her pointe shoes, her makeup and tutu perfectly in order. He’s not sure if he just imagines it, but he could swear he sees her eyes meet his more than once.

 

***

 

Jemma uses Fitz as her grounding point. He’s perfectly situated to be her anchor, the location she’ll stare at during long series of pirouettes and turns. She’d done that on purpose, putting her friends where she did when she’d requested the tickets from her director. It had been a big ask, to obtain five tickets in the best seats in the house—but he’d caved and she’d never been more grateful for anything in her life.

 

Because if there was ever a time that she needed to see Fitz’s face, it’s now—dancing as a principal ballerina in a production of the Nutcracker after years of twirling on a pole and risking her life during every second of it.

 

She collapses into her dressing room in exhaustion at intermission, eager to just get back out there and finish this thing, but the audience needs a break and the stagehands have to make some set changes, so she’s forced to sit back here, anxiously awaiting the second act.

 

The first had gone better than she’d imagined. She hadn’t fallen out of her quadruple pirouette as she’d expected to—rehearsals had been hit and miss, and she’d nearly been replaced by the director.

 

But she’d stared at Fitz as she twirled around once—twice—thrice—four times.

 

And she’d landed it and had to hold back her beaming grin of excitement and surprise because half of ballet is really just acting—with no words, it’s her job to tell a story with only her body and her face, letting the music and the choreography speak for her.

 

The stage manager knocks on her door. “Curtain’s up in five.”

 

Jemma fixes her lipstick one last time and nods at herself in the mirror.

 

“You can do this,” she tells herself. “You’re a goddamn force of nature.”

 

She recite Fitz’s line to herself in her head for the entire walk to the stage. She squares her shoulders in the wings of the stage and shuts her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose and out through her mouth.

 

_It’s not her fault, but she’s a goddamn force of nature._

She snaps her eyes open as she’s gently led by one of her co-dancers onto the stage. Just an hour and a half until she can dash out of the stage door and throw herself into Fitz’s arms. They have plans to go out to dinner at the Space Needle afterwards as a group to celebrate. She can’t wait to bask in the success of this evening with the people who mean the most to her. Then she and Fitz can retire back to their new apartment near the water—a gorgeous one-bedroom apartment that they’d been able to afford with the increase in her salary and his latest book deal, for his first-ever novel.

 

She has yet to read a word of it, and she’s trying really hard not to be nervous about that. He keeps insisting that she’ll be the first to receive an advance copy, but he’s never been shy about sharing his work with her before. She does her best not to let the fact that he’s less eager this time bother her too much.

 

All thoughts of anything other than the next move she’s supposed to make leave her. She becomes caught up in the world of Clara and hardly thinks at all, but that’s the way that dancing has always been for her. Even at Badlands—she’d hardly _thought_ about a second of it, while it was happening. Her body has always had a nearly magnetic relationship with music.

 

She’s not even sure how time flies by as quickly as it does. Intermission had crawled on, seemingly forever, but the second act feels like it’s hardly been a few minutes before the curtains are closing.

 

All of the dancers line up to takes their bows, and Jemma waits for each member of the ensemble to take theirs before her cue to rush out. When she reaches the center of the stage to a standing ovation, she practically chokes on tears but manages to do a fancy little twirl before bowing into a dramatic curtsey.

 

She hears her friends making an unreasonable amount of noise for the ballet and peeks her head up to look at them. Her heart sinks when she makes out Bobbi’s beaming face and Skye’s teary grin, Hunter whooping and hollering and Trip applauding so hard it looks like he’s responsible for half of the noise in the entire theater.

 

The smile falls off of her face. In her biggest moment, Fitz is somehow not here. She’d seen him, between pirouettes, used his face as her anchor to spot her turns, but he’s disappeared in this moment as she receives a standing ovation.

 

Her fellow dancers fall away and something grows cold in her stomach, but not unpleasantly. She sees Skye’s head turn toward Jemma’s right, eyes widening in excitement, so she turns to look at what on earth is going on.

 

Fitz is on the stage, hands trembling. By the time he reaches her, her mind has gone completely blank. The crowd is still cheering, standing, maybe even growing louder, but she doesn’t hear them because he’s getting down on one knee and her heart stops.

 

“Fitz,” she says, so quietly she’s sure he can’t hear her over the clapping. “What are you doing?”

 

“I—I’ve written a million words about you, Jemma. I’ve built a career out of how you make me feel but all of a sudden it’s like I’ve forgotten everything, except the fact that I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

 

“Marry me,” Jemma blurts out, voice thick with tears.

 

He grins crookedly, opening the box in his hand to reveal a rose-gold diamond ring.

 

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

 

She laughs and nods enthusiastically, letting him slide the ring onto her finger. She drags him up by the collar to press her lips to his, popping up on the toes of her pointe shoes.

 

She’s not sure how on earth Fitz convinced the director to let him propose during the closing moments of the ballet’s largest performance of the year, but she couldn’t be more excited that he did. It’s exactly how she pictured it.

 

This is the moment where all of her dreams have come true, converging into one golden memory that she’s sure she won’t forget for a long, long time. One of the youngest members of the company darts out onto the stage with a large bouquet of dahlias, her favorite flower, and Jemma waves out at the audience with her left hand, showing off her ring as the curtain closes.

 

“I can’t believe this,” she tells him, throwing her arms around him again. “I love you. This is—this whole night, I want to remember it forever.”

 

He grins at her, cheeks pink from all of the eyes on him during the spectacle, and she can’t resist the urge to kiss him all over his face as he chuckles warmly.

 

“You have no idea,” he sighs under her affections. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

 

“As if you ever suspected I’d say no,” she teases, popping him with her bouquet. “Are we still going to dinner with everyone?”

 

“Only if you want to,” he tells her. “I thought it’d be nice to celebrate with everyone before we uh—celebrate on our own, back home.”

 

Jemma chews on her lip and shoots him a mischievous look. “You know, you’re already backstage.”

 

“And?”

 

“I’ve got a dressing room all for me,” she suggests, lowering her voice in the tone she just knows will send a shiver down his spine. One look at him tells her that she’s succeeded. “And I’d love to celebrate with our friends. But let’s celebrate by ourselves first.”

 

He nods wordlessly, grabbing at the tulle of her tutu as he chases after her down the hallway of the backstage area. She giggles wildly but is promptly silenced as soon as the door closes behind them.

 

***

 

“So, Jemma, what was it like?” Skye asks eagerly when Fitz and Jemma finally arrive at the restaurant. She’s cleaned off the bulk of her stage makeup, switching out her tutu for a little black dress and some simple jewelry.

 

She exchanges a red-faced look with Fitz. “Um, excuse me?”

 

Skye screws up her face. “Ugh, ew, not whatever reason why you guys were so late. I meant what was it like to be up there again, doing your thing?”

 

Jemma relaxes in her chair, leaning her face in her palm and smiling wistfully. “Oh, it was so perfect. Like coming home from work after a long day.”

 

Hunter snorts. “You’re comparing _actually_ working to coming home from work?”

 

“Some of us really like our jobs,” Jemma sasses. “Those of us who don’t chase around teenagers all day long.”

 

Hunter grins crookedly and raises his beer in her direction. “I’ve got a bit of an announcement myself.”

 

“Bobbi’s pregnant!” Skye bursts out. Bobbi shakes her head adamantly.

 

“Oh hell no,” Bobbi denies. “Nope. No. Nah.”

 

“Alright, don’t have to sound like carrying my child is a death sentence!” Hunter exclaims indignantly. Bobbi looks properly chastised and gives him a sheepish little smile.

 

“Love you,” she mumbles. “Tell them the news.”

 

“I’ve been accepted to the police academy,” Hunter announces.

 

“No way!” Trip shouts out. Skye doesn’t even try to shush him and reaches across the table to clink her own bottle of beer against his.

 

“Congratulations, man!” Skye exclaims happily. “Look at us. A proper group of grown-ups now.”

 

“Hard to believe that more than half of this table used to work at a strip club,” Bobbi comments dryly. Jemma throws her head back in a laugh.

 

“And now look at us.”

 

“Law abiding citizens and everything,” Trip sighs proudly, mockingly dabbing at his eyes. “My kids have grown so much.”

 

Bobbi raises a glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. It certainly won’t beat Jemma’s speech from the wedding—“

 

“Oh please,” Skye scoffs. “She practically blubbered like a baby.”

 

Jemma shoots her a glare. “Continue, Bobbi, even though it certainly will not top my superb speech.”

 

“I couldn’t be happier for you, Jemma. We’re all so proud of you, and we’re all so excited for you and Fitz. To starting over and starting the next chapter of your lives together.”

 

They all echo the sentiment, clinking their glasses and cheers-ing one another with wide smiles on their faces.

 

Fitz leans in close to Jemma and kisses her cheek. “This isn’t the last surprise.”

 

She raises on eyebrow. “Really? Because I was under the impression that the thing you did in the dressing room was certainly a surprise.”

 

He colors deeply and pinches her lightly. “Jemma!”

 

She giggles. “Oh come on, no one heard me. And I’m sure they all knew what we were up to.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “I have something else for you at home, that’s all.”

 

“Is it currently attached to your body?”

 

“For fuck’s sake,” he curses lowly. “Jemma, you are relentless.”

 

She smiles proudly. “One of the many reasons why you’ve chosen to marry me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “And no, for the record, it is not attached to my body.”

 

She pouts in mock disappointment and he kisses it off of her face until Skye loudly objects, drawing them back into conversation with their friends. They spend the rest of the evening talking over and under each other, one of the loudest parties in an otherwise calm and upscale restaurant, but Jemma couldn’t care less.

 

When Jemma and Fitz arrive back at their apartment after a lengthy celebratory dinner, Jemma eagerly holds her hands out for her surprise.

 

“I was promised something else,” she says cheekily. He kisses her forehead and disappears into the bedroom. “Hey! I thought you said it wasn’t a sex thing.”

 

“It’s not,” he insists. “Close your eyes.”

 

She shuts her eyes and keeps her hands out, holding her breath in anticipation. She feels something smooth and solid land on her hands and allows her eyes to flutter open. She stares down at the book in her hands, a glossy hard-cover with a hazy GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS sign on the front.

 

The title of the book reads “The Whole Damn Time” by Leo Fitz. She gasps and immediately opens it up to read the description in the jacket.

 

“Fitz!” she squeals. “It’s done?!”

 

“Yeah, that’s the first copy.”

 

She clears her throat and reads the book’s summary aloud. “Jennifer Simon and Daisy Johnson may not be sisters by blood, but there’s nothing that Jennifer wouldn’t do for her former foster sibling. Jennifer leaves behind her life as a principal dancer in the American Ballet Theater with one purpose—to save Daisy’s life at any cost. This is how Jennifer Simon becomes Hurricane. She learns to survive and how to stop apologizing for it, even when someone from her past makes an appearance at the club she dances in. The rainy streets of Seattle tell the story of Jennifer’s past, present, and future—a story of redemption, hope, love, and heroism.”

 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs.

 

“I know you gave me permission ages ago, to use your story,” he explains. “But it took forever to get it right. When the publisher picked it up, there was a lot they wanted to change so there was a lot of fighting—“

 

“I trust that you protected the integrity of my story,” she tells him earnestly. She steps forward to kiss him deeply, winding her arms around his neck and nearly forgetting completely about the book in her hands until it bangs him on the back of the head. He whines low in his throat and she pulls back to apologize profusely.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I just can’t believe you wrote a book about me.”

 

“Another book about you,” he corrects. “I’m pretty sure they’ve _all_ been about you.”

 

She doesn’t have much to say to that, so she just smiles in that tender way she knows he understands. He snatches the book from her and flips to the dedication page, turning it back around.

 

Jemma is momentarily thrown back to opening up a copy of his first book in the locker room of Badlands.

 

 _For Jemma—if you read this, please come home._ She’d crumpled over it, clutching the book to her chest as a heart-wrenching sob ripped from her throat before she could stop it. It had actually been how she’d met Bobbi—the blonde had walked in and found her there, gently prying the book from Jemma’s clutches and setting it aside to gather the younger girl in her arms.

 

She shakes herself, staring at the words printed in front of her.

 

_For Jemma—who came home and said yes. All the same, all over again._

“You knew I would say yes,” she breathes. He shakes his head.

 

“I really didn’t, but I hoped so. But I’m glad I can call my publisher and tell him he doesn’t need to change that on the other copies.”

 

She laughs, kissing him and walking him slowly backward toward the bedroom. His knees hit the bed and he falls backward, taking her with him. As soon as they land, she crawls off of him and settles in toward the headboard.

 

He leans up in confusion, looking decidedly rumpled. “What?”

 

Jemma smiles, scrunching up her nose and waving the book at him. “You had to know I was going to be up all night reading this.”

 

“Narcissist,” he teases, standing up and opening the top drawer to pull out her favorite pajamas. He tosses them onto the bed. “Get comfortable. I’ll go make up some tea.”

 

She stops him as he turns to leave, tugging him down to kiss him rather senseless once more. When she releases him he looks dazed and she smiles softly.

 

“What was I doing?” he asks dumbly.

 

“Tea,” she tells him, standing to undo the zipper on her dress.

 

“Right, yeah, tea,” he says, stumbling off. She stops him as he reaches the doorway.

 

“Hey, Fitz?”

 

He turns to look at her, dress half-undone. “Yeah?”

 

“I’ll always come home.”

 

“I know,” he replies. “And I’d do it all the same.”

 

“All over again.”

 


End file.
